


Stumble through Mist and Magic

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 35k, M/M, Rating: NC17, attempted non-con, character death in accordance with the legend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin's destiny is much more entwined than even the Dragon predicted but it has consequences neither of them are prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumble through Mist and Magic

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous, heartfelt thank you to winterstorrm , for the beta, the patience, the cheerleading and handholding as I was consumed by doubt over this whole thing. You are amazing. Also thank you to for the quick, half-way beta and advice, you are the best!
> 
> Disclaimer: Product of my twisted mind, all events fictional, don't own anything. Also, I want to mention Marion Zimmer Bradley since I vaguely borrowed her Avalon and not the one with the freaky fluorescent blue dudes. (Hers is ultimately more gorgeous than mine though.)
> 
> Something that made me feel warm and fuzzy inside, is the meaning of the flower Lily of the Valley. I chose it totally at random, it being the first thing that popped into my mind. I know nothing of flowers, so I may have said 'OMFG IT'S DESTINY' when I learnt it means return of happiness, purity of heart, sweetness, humility, happiness, love's good fortune.

  


_Every beginning implies the end and future becomes past._

_No other world can turn and spin because time, it moves too fast._

_Hold on to moments, like liquid gold with fingers strong and true._

_Because no matter what comes first, the end is always you._

 

Written on an unnamed gravestone overlooking the Southern Shore.

  


Merlin’s toes curl in protest when the old man’s fingers dig into his right shoulder, where the muscles are tight and twisted in a stubborn disapproval of their own. Whatever incoherent complaint he utters, is muffled by the pillow that separates his face from the table.

‘So tell me again Merlin, what is the point of this, exactly?’

  


‘Gnnnmmnd.’

‘Please remove head from pillow while talking Merlin, if you would like me to understand what you are saying.’

Merlin lifts his head. ‘No that _is_ , what I am saying, I just- _arghnnn_.’ He twists away from the deceptively strong fingers considering how gnarled they are, biting the pillow in an effort to keep the noise in. If he didn’t know any better he would believe the old man was enjoying himself. ‘You _should_ know better,’ Gaius tells him, not a muscle twitching in his face and Merlin knows his mouth formed the drift away though out loud. ‘Of course I am enjoying myself. There,’ the old man slaps Merlin’s bare back. ‘That should do for today. So you were saying?’ Gaius turns away, wiping the heating cream off his hands with a cloth, while Merlin pulls his shirt over his head.

‘Arthur has gotten it into that thick head of his, I should be trained in basic sword play. He says it is embarrassing to go hunting with a servant that, and I quote “doesn’t know the back of a shield from the front of a saddle.” Fine words if you consider how many times I’ve actually cleaned both.’

Gaius raises a meaningful eyebrow, which is as meaningful as it gets, really. ‘You mean you pretend to clean them when someone is around and then do it by magic as soon as their back is turned?’

‘Well,’ Merlin has the decency to look guilty. ‘Yes. But!’ he adds quickly. ‘It isn’t as if using magic requires no effort at all. I mean, it tires me out too you know.’

‘Yes.’ Gaius’s studious stare, the one that always makes Merlin think he is contemplating a lot more than he’d rather find out, is what makes him jump to his feet. ‘Better go check if his Royal Highness has managed to climb out of his Royal Bath by himself. It’s beyond me how someone can move a sword so fast, you don’t see it coming, but is incapable of dressing himself.’ And with that he is out of the door, missing the narrowed eyes that remain thoughtful long after the door has fallen back into the lock.

‘Is that you Merlin?’ Arthur’s voice drawls from behind the screen by the fire.

‘Yep,’ Merlin tells him, closing the door.

‘Should’ve known, who else comes into my chambers without knocking. Honestly Merlin after all this time I imagined you would at least have learnt to- Oh.’

‘Sorry!’ Merlin turns around. ‘I thought you were still in the bath.’

‘Well, obviously I am not. Hand me a towel will you?’

Merlin’s eyes frantically search the room, until they fall upon the towel hanging over the screen. He grabs it, holds it out in front of Arthur and doesn’t remember how to blink until he is standing by the bed, aimlessly fluffing up the pillows.

‘Leave that alone Merlin, the maid just made my bed, I’d like it to remain that way.’

‘Right.’ Merlin agrees, swallowing passed the narrowing of his throat. ‘Yes, well. Is there anything else you need?’

Arthur narrows his eyes, an amused little smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re very eager to please all of a sudden. Maybe I should’ve worked you a little harder earlier.’

Merlin can feel his cheeks redden, feels it spread to the tips of his ears as he splutters, ‘I just, well I though- maybe you. Eh, never mind.’

Arthur glances at him with a small grin. ‘Right. Just hand me my clothes, then you can be off to do whatever it is you do when you’re not being utterly incoherent as well as incompetent.’

‘Really?’ Merlin’s eyes widen in delight as he grabs a fresh shirt and a pair of breeches from the closet. ‘I don’t have to muck out your stables? Clean your armor? Bring you food tonight? Tuck you in with a bedtime story?’

‘No _Merlin_ , you can have the evening-. Hey! You never have to tuck me-!’ Arthur lunges for the nearest throw-able thing, which happens to be an apple, and hurtles it at Merlin, who catches it in midair with a-

‘Thank you Sire, you are too kind!’ before disappearing through the door with a big grin and a twinkle in his eye, while take a juicy bite.

~ ~ ~

  


‘Arthur,’ the King sighs, his eyes suddenly tired and bloodshot. ‘We’ve been over this so many times I can’t even-.’ Uther rubs his forehead wearily, while picking at the food before him. Arthur’s jaw is tense, his eyes fixed on an untouched plate. How his father can sit there and eat, when-.

The King’s eyes travel over his son, noticing the hard set of his shoulders. He reaches out and places a hand on Arthur’s forearm. ‘I know it is hard for you to understand, son. You don’t know what it was like back then. We must remain unyielding. There are times mercy is acceptable, but this is not one of them. We have to be relentless or we will succumb to the evil that is magic.’

‘I find it impossible to believe all magic is wicked, father. Surely it is in principle like a sword, on the edge of right or wrong depending on the hand that wields it.’

‘There is nothing _good_  about magic Arthur! I have never seen anything good come out of it.’ Something flashes across Uther's face, like he regrets his words, but then it's gone.

Arthur looks at his father and thinks about not speaking his mind, about giving in, accepting like he always does. Instead the words tumble out before he can stop them. ‘I can’t say I have seen good magic, no. But then, there is no room for that anymore is there? I mean, how would anyone that _is_ good, that _wants_ to use it for righteous reasons, dare to reveal themselves? Any sign of it and you lose all reason. If someone would use magic to save a babe, you’d still behead them. Probably the baby too, since you kill all associated with sorcery.’

‘Mind your tongue boy.’ Uther’s voice is soft, but the threat is no less present.

‘See? That is exactly what I mean! You have made it clear no magic whatsoever will be tolerated, so those who mean no harm have gone into hiding and any magic brandished is automatically evil because it is used to wipe out Camelot in revenge for lost loved ones.’

Arthur jolts when Uther’s hand smacks down hard on the wooden surface, one of the wine goblets teetering dangerously. ‘As long as I am King,’ Uther hisses, eyes wide and a little mad. ‘There shall be no magic in this land. And as long as I am your father, you will listen and you will _heed_ me Arthur Pendragon. And I pray to any God that has a mind to pay attention that you will not make the mistake of being weak when I am gone. Or you will be King for less then a fleeting moment, wiped out by your enemies and forgotten by generations to come, before you’ve even managed to make an impact. Undoing everything I have worked so hard for.’

‘But they are children father!’ Arthur almost yells as he rises to his feet. ‘Their only crime was to be born from a mother practicing magic! And all she did was attempt to save a woman from dying in childbirth.’ Before you chopped off her head, he wants to add, causing all three of them to die needlessly, but he doesn’t. He sees Uther’s nostrils flare, the hurt behind the steel in his eyes and tries to soften his voice. ‘How can you ever expect there to be peace when you cannot show mercy to a mere child! Father, they are _children_.’

‘You will understand one day Arthur, that showing mercy is futile when it comes to this kind. An iron hand alone can rule this kingdom; emotion has no place on a throne. Leave me now, your presence is no longer desired this evening.’

The muscles in Arthur’s jaws tense and relax twice, before he spins on his heels and leaves the room. His footsteps can be heard echoing through the castle as he runs up the stairs in fury.

‘Merlin!’ he yells, as the door to his chamber bangs against the wall before bounding back and snapping shut. Only when he is met with a dying fire and an empty silence, does he remember giving Merlin the evening off. He vaguely wonders what his servant does when he is not working, before making a conscious effort in deciding it absolutely does not matter.

  


~ ~ ~

  


‘And then he told me, right, he told me I never tuck him in, before throwing an apple at my head!’ Merlin sips the mug of mead as Guinevere giggles, feeling the warm buzz of alcohol hum in his veins.

‘I think you are lucky Merlin, to be servant to the prince. He’ll be a great King one day.’

‘Ugh, you’re doing it again Gwen,’ Merlin tells her, his lip curled up in mild disgust.

‘Doing what?’ she wants to know, straightening from where her chin was resting in her palm.

‘Going all dreamy eyed at the thought of Arthur.’ He leans forward, eyes sparkling with mirth as he puts on a high voice. ‘Oh _Arthur_ ,’ he squeals, one hand pressed against his chest. ‘He’s so _wonderful_ , so heroic and _pretty_. He’ll be the bestest King _ever_.’

‘I don’t say any of those things!’ Guinevere insists with a laugh. ‘And I do not talk like that.’

‘Yes you do,’ Merlin tells her, leaning back. ‘And you are caressing your mug. I mean if you want to be left alone with it for a bit-.’

‘Merlin!’ she exclaims in shock, drawing her hands into her lap, but her cheeks are flushing pink and she obviously can’t suppress the grin that is tugging at her mouth. It stretches out wide when Merlin laughs gently.

‘It’s all right Gwen,’ he tells her. ‘Everyone fancies Arthur a bit.’

‘Yeah, I know. You should hear some of the-‘ She stops at the sudden look of interest on Merlin’s face. ‘Anyway, I wonder who he’ll marry, I mean- It’s not going to be someone he-,’ she glances down, her fingers wrapping around the mug again as if it might be hot and she needs to warm her fingers. ‘He won’t be allowed to marry for love will he? It will be something strategic. An alliance of some sort that is good for Camelot but not necessarily good… for him.’ Her eyes flicker briefly to Merlin’s face and then back to her own hands as if she thinks she may have given a piece of herself away that she hadn’t meant to.

‘Yeah,’ he says, frowning a little, suppressing the urge to make fun of this, knowing it would damage something but he doesn’t quite know what. ‘I never really gave it any thought, but I suppose you are right.’ His eyes rest on Gwen’s face, who still refuses to look at him for a few seconds. ‘Mind you,’ he says eventually, leaning back and bringing his mug to his lips. ‘It’s all utter horse dung if you ask me.’

‘Merlin!’

‘Sorry,’ he apologizes with a sheepish grin, flushed with embarrassment and alcohol. He looks at the mead, goes to drink it, then thinking better of it, he puts it down. ‘What I mean is, I think people should be together for love, you know. No matter whom they are. Not for convenience or army size or whatever. Like, I’d never marry anyone rich, even if I could, if it just meant a comfortable life.’ Guinevere watches him as the amusement slowly slinks from his face. ‘I’d marry the lowliest servant if I loved them. I want to be with someone who understands me, who I can-.’ He snaps his mouth shut, grabs the mug after all and takes a deep gulp.

‘Yes?’ Gwen asks gently, much more sober than Merlin thought she was. ‘Someone you can-?’

‘Who I can be myself with,’ he admits with a sigh. However unlikely _that_ will be.

‘Yeah. Well, maybe there is something to say for being a lowly servant, right? At least we won’t have to marry someone for their big army. We could marry each other if we wanted to.’ Merlin almost chokes on his next mouthful. ‘I mean not that I’d want to!’ Gwen quickly corrects herself, her earlier pink flush deepening to a ruby red. ‘I meant, we have a choice. If we want to, which I don’t, by the way. But we could. But we won’t, obviously. While Arthur can’t. Anyway, um-. Never mind.’

‘Eh, yeah. I should be getting back. I think. Before Gaius believes he has to start preparing one of those truly awful hangover concoctions. Seriously, I think he makes them taste bad on purpose.’ Merlin rises to his feet. ‘Thanks for dinner Gwen! Have a good night!’

‘Bye Merlin,’ she tells his retreating back. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  


~ ~ ~

  


‘Merlin? _Merlin_!’

‘Mmn’s too early, g’way.’

‘Merlin. Wake. Up.’

‘Gnnn, wha-?’

Merlin half rolls over, squinting against the moonlight that spills in through his window, outlining Arthur in a shape of broad shoulders and sharp profile. There is a distant throb located somewhere behind his right ear and he wonders if he shouldn’t have taken Gaius’s potion after all. ‘What d’you want?’ he mumbles, rubbing a fist into one eye while sitting up. Arthur lowers himself down on the edge of the bed and Merlin pushes himself a bit further toward the wall.

‘I can’t do this anymore Merlin.’

‘What? What do you mean?’ Merlin attempts to blink himself awake and into having a clearer vision of Arthur at the same time. He can see him looking down at his hands while worrying his bottom lip. ‘What can’t you do anymore Arthur?’ he asks, voice puffing out in an exasperated breath he is too tired to hide.’ Sleep between those soft sheets? On that bouncy mattress of yours? Because I’d be quite willing to sw-.’

‘What do you know about the bounciness of my m-,’ Arthur bristles, before pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘No, you know what? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. Anyway, that is not why I am here.’

‘Then why _are_ you here Arthur? Because I am rather attached to those few hours before dawn. You know? The ones normal people spend sleeping? Especially if you are planning on bashing me around for sport some mo-.’

‘I can’t stand by and do nothing while my father executes innocent children.’

‘Oh.’

Well, that is unexpected.

‘Do you mean that?’ He can almost _feel_ Arthur roll his eyes. ‘No Merlin, I am joking. That is why I am sitting on the edge of your bed in the middle of the night.’

‘Right. But, what do you want to do about it? I mean, they are going to be hanged first thing tomorrow aren’t they? It’s just… I’m not happy about this either. At all.’ In fact, he had been told, repeatedly, with snaky eyebrow and pointy finger waving by Gaius, not to become involved in this in any way, I mean it Merlin. ‘But I don’t see-.’

‘We’re going to help them escape. They are just children Merlin! My father is growing more imperious with every day he grows older. He doesn’t take anyone’s council, he doesn’t listen to me when I try to bring him to reason. I’m starting to wonder if he-,’ Arthur turns away, the moonlight giving his face a ghostly glow. ‘Anyway, I was lying awake thinking I could do this no longer, so that is why I came here.’ He stops talking abruptly and looks at Merlin, whose eyes are now used to the dark and are wide in their appraisal of Arthur. ‘And if I am coming to you of all people for reasoning, then I must be going senile.’

‘No! Well, yes you are. But no, I mean, I think it’s…’ Merlin can feel the grin stretch over his face but he can’t help it and he doesn’t really care either.

‘It’s what?’ Arthur asks him, cocking his head to the left, eyes curious.

‘It’s brilliant!’ Merlin grins, waiting a heartbeat so he can be sure he has Arthur’s attention. ‘You’re brilliant! Come on.’ He jumps out of bed, giving Arthur and accidental but ungentle shove with his foot.

‘What? Where are we going?’ Arthur hisses, rubbing his arm.

‘To free those kids, of course!’

Arthur’s eyes widen fractionally as he watches Merlin hop around on one foot, attempting to pull on his trousers. He expected more of _no Arthur, you can’t. It is too dangerous, think about this_ , instead of an eagerness rarely seen in Merlin whenever Arthur asks him to do anything. ‘Have you even thought about how to go about this Merlin?’ Arthur wants to know and crosses his arms, his lips pressing together in an almost convincing display of disapproval.

‘What do you mean?’ Merlin frowns, not understanding his sudden reluctance. ‘We just sneak into the dungeons and get the kids out. Easy.’

‘And what,’ Arthur asks, rising to his feet. ‘Will you do about the guards for one thing? And the kids themselves once they are free, for another? Will you tell the King they are yours maybe? Fathered years ago and the mother just turned up?’

‘What? No, of course not!’ Merlin’s ears redden a little but then he grins again. ‘I’ll ride out tonight still, take the kids to the next village. I know someone who will care for them. I will be back before dawn; the King never needs to know. And you can leave the guards to me.’ Merlin flashes him another smile, before carefully opening his bedroom door. There is a grudging hint of respect hidden behind the scepticism in Arthur’s eyes as he follows his servant out, past the sleeping physician.

  


~ ~ ~

  


‘It’s just so unfair, don’t you think?’ Arthur asks Merlin, as they steal through the castle, backs pressed against the wall whenever the heavy footfall of guards passes by.

Merlin tuts. ‘Things are unfair around here? Never.’

Arthur splutters and gives Merlin’s shoulder a shove. ‘Shut up Merlin. What I mean is, my father just loses his mind when it comes to magic. I’ve taken his word for it all these years and I am just starting to wonder.’

Merlin stills, his light mood evaporating like snow before the sun. ‘Wonder what?’ he asks Arthur, his voice uncommonly soft and he feels he has lost the ability to swallow, when he steals a look at Arthur.

‘It just doesn’t make sense to me why only villains would have magic or how it could corrupt anyone it touches. If you ask me, there is much more magic around than we think, but people who mean no harm just keep their heads down.’

‘Do you mean that?’ Merlin whispers after a long pause,

‘Yes of course I mean that Merlin, what is the matter with you? You look like a girl that has just heard someone profess their undying love. Come on, this way.’

It takes a second before Merlin can recall the function of his feet and he hurries down the steps after his master. ‘So, theoretically speaking,’ he asks, tugging on Arthur’s sleeve while they descend deeper into the bowels of the keep. ‘If there was someone, say, working here in the castle, and they have done for years, never harming a soul and you would find out they sort of, might have, a little bit of, you know, magic, would you… not tell the King?’

Arthur stops dead so Merlin bumps into him and stares, his face flickering in and out of the shadows. ‘Why, do you know of someone Merlin?’

‘I’m hardly going to say am I, unless I know for sure you won’t chop them into pieces from the neck down.’

‘Huh.’ Arthur studies him with a concentrated frown for a moment, before turning and continuing on down. ‘So _theoretically speaking_ , has this person used magic while living in Camelot?’

‘Eh… maybe, a little bit, I suppose, possibly?’ He is sticking out his neck, quite literally, but if his notion of Arthur’s opinion concerning himself is marginally correct, he doesn’t believe the prince will even consider the idea, that Merlin is talking about himself.

‘And is this magic used for good, or evil?’

‘For good, of course.’

‘Like how?’

‘Eh, for healing people? Maybe. I’d imagine. Theoretically.’

‘What else?’

They spiral down and down further until the air becomes stale and humid. Merlin chews the inside of his cheek, wondering how far he can go without losing his precarious hold on this surreal conversation.

‘Saving the King’s life, occasionally.’ Merlin hesitates. ‘And yours.’ At those words Arthur wields around again and Merlin comes to a sudden halt one step above him, arms flailing as he tries to balance himself. Arthur puts a steadying hand to his chest. ‘Who are you talking about Merlin? Who is magic that you know of?’

‘Arthur I can’t-‘

‘ _Merlin_. As long as they haven’t harmed anyone I won’t betray them, but if you know of someone, you must tell me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because-‘ Arthur hesitates, the words caught in his throat. ‘Because you would want to keep an eye on them,’ Merlin says instead. ‘Track them so you can pin the blame on them if there is any magic being used you don’t approve of.’

‘No!’ Arthur protests, his fingers absentmindedly tightening on Merlin’s tunic. ‘Well… no. If I trusted them, if I knew-. Merlin who-?’ But they had been talking too loudly and there is a noise coming from the dungeons below. Merlin hadn’t realized just how close to the dungeons they had come, the railing overlooking the small circular room below a blurred shape in the distant firelight.

They can hear one of the guards starting to rise and walk toward the stairs. Arthur pushes the hand still resting against Merlin’s chest and presses him deeper into the shadows, until their backs are flush with the wall. When they can see the flickering light of an approaching torch, Merlin turns his face away from the prince and mutters something under his breath that draws the shadows around them closer still, so if the guard looks up, he’ll see nothing at all.

The torch is a blinding source of light at the bottom of the stairs for a while, but then it retreats and Merlin and Arthur release a breath they didn’t know they were holding. ‘Well he’s getting a talking to tomorrow,’ Arthur hisses.

‘Oh yeah because it would have been _so_ much better if he’d actually climbed all the way up here. We’d be hanged beside those kids tomorrow but at least you’d die knowing you have trained your guard well.’

Arthur’s face is suddenly very close to his. ‘Merlin?’

‘I’m irritating?’

‘Yes.’

‘And annoying?’

‘Correct.’

‘Useless and incompetent?

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Aaaand, shut up?’

‘Good boy.’ Merlin’s cheek is slapped twice, before they descend a bit further. ‘Right,’ Arthur whispers, smiling smugly. ‘How exactly were you going to take care of these guards?’

Merlin waits for his eyes to cool, straightens up from the banister beneath which the two men are keeping guard, and smirks. ‘Looks like I don’t need to.’

‘What?’ Arthur hisses, before leaning over and looking down. ‘Asleep? I can’t bloody believe it! If we weren’t here to-.’

‘Well we are. So come on.’

The boy and girl are asleep too, curled around each other in a heap of pitiful fear that makes Merlin’s chest contract a bit. He hisses another spell under his breath that will ensure they remain asleep until they are well away from castle grounds. ‘Is there something wrong with them you think?’ Arthur whispers when he carefully lifts the girl into his arms, a little awkwardly, unused as he is to the weight of a child against his chest, as Merlin does the same with the boy.

‘I think the terror must have exhausted them,’ Merlin tells him, not looking him in the eye.

‘Listen,’ Arthur says, his voice a little odd and strangled. ‘I don’t want you to-.’

‘Look,’ Merlin interrupts, turning and blocking the way out of the cell. ‘I know what you are going to say. But I also know, if I have any inkling of how your puny brain works, that you will have argued with the King about these kids. So you have to make sure you are in the castle, preferably asleep, when they are found missing. Even if that doesn’t happen until morning, Uther can’t be allowed to have any reason to suspect you.’

Arthur grits his teeth together, until realizing he has no choice but to concede. ‘Fine,’ he bites out. ‘Now get out of my way.’

Arthur saddles the horse while Merlin holds the two children, handing them over when it is time to mount.

‘Be careful,’ Arthur tells him, when he pushes the girl into his lap. ‘And when you return, you and I are going to have a talk.’

Merlin can’t do anything but nod, feeling the stare of his prince burn into his back long after he has disappeared through the gates.

  


~ ~ ~

  


‘Arrr _thurrr_ ,’ Merlin complains, his back covered in sticky sweat that drips down from the hairs in his neck, where it collects just long enough to make his collar itchy beyond endurance, before running down. The horse feels hot beneath the saddle and the thin fabric of his breeches chafes his thighs.

‘Merlin if you don’t stop your incessant whining right now, I will _give_ you something to whine about.’

‘But what is the point?’ He squints against the glaring sunlight, most likely some of the last this summer. It seems reluctant to let go now that it has a hold, enveloping the land in a weighty coat of heat, the air itself shimmering with it.

Arthur ignores his complaining, instead asks, ‘You are quite sure the guards will not find those children in that village? Because if they do…’ He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, Merlin knows Uther’s revenge would most likely profess itself in burning the entire town for harboring them, down to the last crop. He watches Arthur’s back, where the sweat forms a V-shape between his shoulder blades and says, ‘Stick two kids in a family with a whole bunch of other kids and no one can tell them apart.’ Well, that and the tiny detail of changing the children’s hair color.

There is also the glamour he cast so anyone who means them harm, will just glance past them, but he isn’t going to tell Arthur about _that_.

It had been quite a tricky bit of magic, and Merlin was a little shocked at the ease with which he had pulled it off. It is almost as if his magic is growing still, and on days like today, where he can’t escape Arthur’s attention to use it, the overflow is like a constant hum beneath his skin.

Merlin is just about to open his mouth (again), to complain loudly (again) about the futility of pretending to look for the kids while there is no one around to see them do it, when Arthur throws his hands in the air. ‘Oh hell!’ he exclaims, running one hand through his sweat-damped hair before picking up the reins, when they crest the top of the hill. ‘You are right. This is ridiculous. There is a stream not far from here, let’s water the horses, rest until the most overbearing heat is gone and go tell my father we found remnants of two children’s bodies, eaten by wolves or whatever.’

‘Really? You’re going to lie to the King?’

Arthur delivers a pointed dark look over his shoulder. ‘And what do you think I was doing this morning when I told him I would send out various search parties?’

‘Ehm. Good point.’

‘We should send some payment, to the people who have taken in those children.’

‘Actually, I offered that already.’

‘Really?’ Arthur slows his horse until they walk side by side. ‘What did they say?’

‘They declined. Told me if the Prince of Camelot thinks his people need paying for saving two children from the stake, the prince of Camelot obviously doesn’t know his people very well.’

‘They said that, did they?’ To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur is grinning.

‘Yeah, something like that.’

‘Send them some gold anyway, they have two more mouths to feed after all.’

Now Merlin is grinning too. ‘I will.’

The instant cool offered by the trees next to the river is a delight that runs down Merlin’s back like a caress. He strips the saddle and bags from his horse and ties it to a tree after making sure it can reach the water. He splashes some of it over his own face and neck, watching Arthur do the same out of the corner of his eye. ‘Ahhh this is much better,’ he says, spreading himself out over the yellowing grass, not as soft as it could’ve been but accommodating enough.

‘If I didn’t know any better Merlin, I’d believe you were lazy. Oh, but wait-’ Arthur laughs at him when Merlin flicks the drops of water still clinging to his fingers in the prince’s face.

‘Whatever Arthur. You’d miss me if I went away.’

‘You know,’ Arthur says with a groan as he lies down too. ‘I probably would.’

Merlin wants to say something to that, but the soothing shade, the oppressing sultriness of midday and the lack of rest from the previous night pull him down into a slumber, before coherent thought has the chance to form.

Arthur snorts softly, moving his foot, about to nudge his passed out servant, but he keeps it in check at the last second. Instead he rolls onto his back, folding his arms beneath his head, crosses his legs at the ankles and stares at the sky, thoughts hidden to all but himself.

But Arthur wouldn’t be Arthur if keeping still in both body and mind didn’t make him restless, so after listening to Merlin’s breath deepen to soft snores for longer than he normally would, he nudges the bony elbow that holds his servant’s head away from the grass.

‘Merlin,’ he croons in a silly voice, grinning as he sees the eyelids flutter, reluctant to open to the material world. ‘Wake up Merlin.’

‘Leame’lone. Tired, up all night riding.’ Merlin licks his lips and snuggles deeper into the crook of his arm but Arthur won’t give up. He rolls onto his stomach, picks a long dried strand of grass and sweeps it back and forth above Merlin’s top lip, barely touching skin. He sniggers when Merlin crinkles his nose before burying his face into his arm completely. Still undeterred, Arthur resorts to tickling his neck instead.

‘Do you have to be such a prat Arthur Pendragon, or is it pure self amusement.’

‘Self amusement of course,’ Arthur tells him, when Merlin rolls over and snags the grass from his fingers. He sticks it between his lips and chews on it, closing his eyes again. ‘I don’t think I’ve thanked you, for yesterday.’

‘Oh?’ Merlin’s eyebrows rise in question, but his eyes don’t open.

‘Yeah, you were right about my father. He was in my room the moment the alarm bells rang. So it is a good thing I stayed behind.’

‘Told you so,’ Merlin hums, his mouth twitching.

‘Do you have to be such a _girl_ Merlin?’ Arthur laughs. The sound is light and carefree. ‘Or is that pure self amusement too.’

‘What? I did, didn’t I?’

‘Well. Maybe you’re not completely useless after all.’

‘Oh thank you, your _Highness_ , I am basking in the warmth of your praise. No, really.’ He grins when Arthur kicks his shin, regarding him between his eyelashes. Arthur looks like he is about to retaliate but instead his voice is soft when he says, ‘Well, I mean it anyway. Thank you. I know I ask much more of you than I have the right to ask of any servant.’

‘Yeah but I’m not just any servant am I?’ And he waits for it, for the _no you’re much much worse than any servant I’ve ever known_ but it doesn’t come. Instead, he notes how Arthur’s eyes are veiled and darker than usual, how his brows have slightly knitted together, forming the small upturned V that appears in moments of worry or deep thought, when he says _no, no you’re not._

  


~ ~ ~

  


‘Ready?’

‘No.’ Merlin shifts the helmet a little to the right.

‘Oh come on Merlin, look on the bright side! At least it won’t hurt so much anymore when I hit you.’

‘Oh there is a bright side to look at, is there? I wouldn’t know because I can’t see a _damned thing_ in this poor excuse for a leaky bucket.’ And if he sounds a little petulant, well that is just too bad then, isn’t it?

‘Defend yourself,’ Arthur commands him, lifting his sword with what can only be described as relish.

‘I would if I could bloody lift my arms.’ Merlin tries to look down at the chain mail he has been wrapped in, but the helmet catches on his chin, incidentally trapping his nose. While he tries to right it, Merlin nearly stabs himself in the leg. In Arthur’s defence, he really means to help Merlin out, but he is laughing so hard his knees have gone weak and all that is keeping him standing, is the sword he is leaning on, dug into the ground.

‘You know,’ he wheezes, when he catches his breath. ‘You’d do all right in a fight, you’ll just cause the enemy to laugh themselves to death.’

‘Oh that’s nice, real nice, _Sire_.’ Merlin throws the sword on the ground, pulls the helmet of his head while trying not to wince when it catches on his ears in the process, and stomps off in a huff.

‘Oh, don’t leave?’ Arthur yells after him, but Merlin just continues to dump parts of his armor onto the ground as he retreats to the armory. He is still plucking at the wrist guards, which just will not loosen and is contemplating using magic when Arthur walks in, his arms heavy with everything Merlin discarded.

‘Here let me.’ Merlin frowns dubiously as Arthur dumps the armor and steps nearer, hand reaching out. ‘What? I’m not going to tackle you or anything, just let me help you.’

Merlin holds out a wrist but continues to keep an eye on Arthur, wary of any sudden movements. It is difficult though, to not look at those long fingers, a little dirt underneath the thumbnail from where it caught the grass, as they uncoil the straps deftly, and his frown deepens. Arthur misunderstands. ‘Oh don’t be angry Merlin, you would’ve laughed too.’

‘Am not angry. Am sulking.’

‘Oh well that’s all right then,’ Arthur grins as he tosses the first wrist guard onto the table with the rest of the armor, and he holds out an empty hand, flexing his fingers in invitation for Merlin’s other wrist. When Merlin gives it, he holds it cupped in his left hand, while he unties the straps with his right. Merlin cocks his head to the side and he will always swear there was no conscious action to it, when a long finger of his own traces the back of Arthur’s hand once, fleetingly, for less than the duration of a breath. The skin feels hot, soft above tight tendons. Arthur’s hands freeze and their eyes lock, blue wonder meeting horror.

‘I’m sorry!’ Merlin stutters, jerking his hand back and stumbling away. ‘I don’t know- I just-. I thought, your hands are nice and- Gods. I’m so sorry.’ He tears the wrist guard off and shoulders past a baffled Arthur into the corridor.

‘Merlin shouldn’t you be helping the prince by now?’

All Gaius receives is a barely there glance while Merlin remains sitting on his bed, right knee jumping up and down. Gaius’s eyes widen and rise to the ceiling in a clear effort to prevent themselves from rolling as he asks-

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing, I - nothing all right? Fine, I’ll- I’ll go.’ He knows he has no choice really, and that waiting, and being late, will only make things worse, more obvious, more awkward than they already are. So he stands up and waits for the physician to move, but he doesn’t.

‘I thought you two were getting along lately. Was I mistaken? Did he say something?’

‘No, it’s nothing. Really. I- I’m late already.’

With a hint of a sigh, Gaius steps to the side, his eyes on Merlin’s back until it disappears through the door.

Merlin stands in front of Arthur’s chambers, fingers pressed to either side of the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. This is ridiculous. He knows he can’t avoid the prince forever and he is just about to make his mind up to knock - for once - when the door flies open.

‘Oh.’

Arthur reels back a bit, startled by the immobile and unexpected appearance of Merlin. ‘There you are,’ he recovers quickly. ‘I was just about to call for a guard to go find you.’

‘I-,’ Merlin swallows hard, unable to prevent himself from staring at Arthur. Arthur who is regarding him with his part curious, part arrogant prince expression. Of course it wouldn’t mean anything to Arthur, he’d probably forgotten about it already. ‘Yeah, sorry I overslept.’

Arthur’s eyebrow arches in a  _you look like you haven’t slept at all_  -way but remains silent and steps to the side, allowing Merlin to enter. ‘I was thinking, since father believed the whole wolves having kids for breakfast tale, and you obviously need a break from being banged about, we could go hunting today.’

Merlin swallows, plasters his usual, long suffering look of barely there patience on his face, and comes very close to making it real before turning around. ‘Yes because hunting is _oh so much better_ than being banged about. I just _love_ trudging around a forest in this heat, with dead animals dangling from my back, before gutting and skinning them. No, really, it is a dream come true. So yes, _let’s._ ’

Arthur looks at him, arms crossed, head tilted to the left, lips pressed together. ‘You know, all I heard is a blahdeblah variation of "yes Milord, I’d be honored to go hunting with you Milord, anything you say Milord".’

Merlin snorts, his old self returning slowly. ‘And you called _me_ deaf as well as dumb.’ He picks up a discarded tunic and spreads it out on the bed, to fold it. He doesn’t notice Arthur is moving toward him, until their shoulders brush together. Merlin’s hands still on the sleeve of the half folded tunic, when a finger runs softly over the back of his hand. ‘Huh,’ Arthur says, bottom lip sticking out a little, head tilted to the right, before he walks away with a, ‘Oh and don’t forget to pack some lunch. I missed breakfast thanks to you.’

  


~ ~ ~

 

‘Morgana, how do you ever expect to find a husband when your tongue is laced with more poison than a scorpid’s tail?’

‘This might come as quite a surprise to you Arthur,’ Morgana tells him with a slow smile, ‘but some men appreciate wit in a woman, and some, although those are rare to find indeed, can even keep up with it.’

Merlin sucks his cheeks in to repress the grin that is tugging at his mouth, but Gwen beside him is not fooled and nudges him in the ribs. ‘There is a lot of rotten fruit and veg in this heat Merlin,’ she hisses beneath her breath. ‘And all very stock-throwing worthy.’

‘I know, but it is always worth watching Arthur attempting to take on Morgana.’

‘He needs wine Merlin,’ she hisses with a suppressed laugh, ‘go!’

She is right, Arthur has lifted his goblet minutely but it is the sign for a refill. He hurries forward, schools his expression into one of careful boredom and pours the burgundy liquid in the cup. All the thanks and acknowledgment he receives, is a small tilt of the tin beaker before he retreats to his place by the wall. He doesn’t mind it there, the stone is cool and much less oppressing than the candles and torches lighting the dining table. He could see the sweat pearling at Arthur’s nape when he poured the wine.

‘The noblemen’s daughter certainly has eyes for the prince,’ Gwen tells him when he hands her the jug. His eyebrow lifts a bit at the hardly noticeable disapproving tilt of her mouth, but as he turns to see the buxom blonde flutter her eyelashes at a slightly pink Arthur, he feels a twinge of disapproval all of his own. ‘Maid Marion my backside,’ Gwen mutters beneath her breath before hurrying to fill Morgana’s goblet.

So he isn’t entirely shocked to walk into an empty room the next day, but there is still something tugging in his gut, a little creature rearing its head in displeasure and for a mad moment Merlin imagines it to be his magic. He aimlessly fluffs up the pillows of an apparently not slept in bed, briefly contemplating toppling over and stealing a short nap on the royal mattress, when the door opens and Arthur marches in.

‘Oh,’ Merlin says, as they regard each other a little nervously. ‘You look… well rested.’ He does. He certainly doesn’t look worn out from an all night romp with Maid Marion.

‘Yeah, eh- I was up early and went for a ride.’

Merlin tilts his head to the side. ‘Really? I thought- never mind.’

‘No Merlin, please,’ the prince tells him tersely, closing the door and regaining a little of his usual swagger. ‘Please inform me of what you were thinking, I am intrigued.’

‘No, no. It’s nothing, I assure you. You don’t have time for the idiotic thoughts of your lowly servants do you, Sire?’

Arthur crosses his arms, presses his lips together and waits. Merlin’s fingers start to fidget with the edges of the pillow he is still holding. And still Arthur waits. Merlin shuffles his feet. Arthur raises an eyebrow. ‘All right, all right! I thought- there were meaningful looks, and flushed cheeks, fluttering eyelashes last night and now - an empty, untouched bed. That’s all.’ And he knows he tried not to sound disappointed, but he doesn’t quite believe he succeeded. To his immense amazement, Arthur’s neck and face is flushing scarlet.

‘The maid-,’ Arthur begins, pointing at the bed. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he appears to make up his mind. ‘We are going for another ride,’ he tells Merlin, walking forward, snatching the pillow and tossing it on the bed, before grabbing him by the collar and dragging him out. ‘Really? But you just-‘ Merlin protests and Arthur shuts him up with a, ‘Really.’

‘Right.’

Well, almost shuts him up.

  


~ ~ ~

 

They end up in the shade over the hill by the river again and while the sun is already climbing toward its highest point in the sky, Merlin doesn’t quite know what to do with Arthur’s brooding silence. They water the horses and themselves, Merlin even stripping off his boots so his feet can dangle in the stream. The heat brings a new meaning to oppressive today, even though the leaves on the trees above are already turning yellow.

‘Don’t you have to go and laze about now Merlin? Go close your eyes and fall asleep or something?’ Arthur snaps and Merlin, who had been watching the water run between his toes with a content little smile, subtly slowing down the droplets one by one to give release to his pent up magic, doesn’t understand the downturned set of Arthur’s mouth and the harsh note to his voice.

‘What? I don’t-’

‘Just. Come over here and- go to sleep.’

‘But- I’m not tired,’ he replies stupidly, the odd request closing off any sensible thought.

‘God _Merlin_ , why do you always have to fight me on everything I ask of you! Whether it is work or hunting or training, all you can do is question and complain! I ask you to lie down and rest and still you whine.’

‘I wasn’t whining,’ Merlin tells him, his bottom lip jutting out as he rises and stomps to Arthur’s side, annoyed by more than just the sharp twigs and stones digging into his bare feet. ‘I don’t understand you sometimes.’

‘No _I_ don’t understand _you_! Do you think anyone would treat you the way I do? You think any man in my position would put up with the _shit_ you give me? Just lie down will you!’

‘ _What_!’ Merlin flares up, sinking to his knees anyway, then stretching his legs and propping himself up by the elbows. ‘Is your _problem_?!’

‘ _You_ are my problem Merlin! All I wanted to do was talk to you and you just have to go and make it so damned difficult, don’t you!’

All the anger seeps out of Merlin. Arthur’s eyes are cast down, his fingers twisting and releasing one of the laces of his jacket. Merlin lifts himself up enough to sit with his legs folded beneath him and pats the dried out grass to his right. ‘Sit down.’

‘You don’t tell me what to do!’ Arthur snarls, turning away to walk a few steps toward the water, running his hands over his face. Merlin has to bite back his reply, take a breath. ‘All right, Sire, would you please like to sit down so we can talk?’

For a moment he thinks Arthur will reject that too, but instead he toes off his boots, pulls the jacket off his back and sinks down to Merlin’s left, maybe because it is closest or because it is a tiny act of rebellion to Merlin indicating the other side. A thin trickle of sweat runs down his temple, past his chin, to disappear in the shade of his neck, where his shirt is stained dark and damp. When it is obvious Arthur isn’t going to speak, head bent over the clasped hands hanging between his knees, Merlin leans forward a little.

‘Would you like me to wash out your shirt? Freshen it up a little for the ride home?’

Arthur looks up, his blue eyes lidded and unreadable. ‘That would be nice,’ he says after a hesitation. ‘Thank you.’ He shimmies out of the shirt and hands it to Merlin in a bundle, who rises to his feet and goes to the stream, where he dips the cloth into the water. He murmurs something under his breath, hoping Arthur isn’t paying attention, and the shirt turns instantly white again. He scrubs it a little, for pretence, before rising to his feet and stretching it open over a low hanging branch. Arthur’s eyes are narrow as they glance up, but he doesn’t say anything, so Merlin takes his previous place again, stretching out his legs, and leaning on his elbows.

They sit in silence for a while but he knows Arthur won’t talk until he is ready. On occasion, Merlin’s mindless babble will draw him out, but this is not one of those times.

‘Have you ever… been with a woman Merlin?’ Arthur asks eventually and Merlin gulps, turns red, then white, then red again. Of all the scenario’s Merlin had imagined, ranging from quite ordinary but no less painful (I miss my mother, what was it like to grow up with one), to terrifying (I know you have magic Merlin, what do we do now), to downright paralyzingly embarrassing (why did you touch my hand like that and would you like to do it again), he would take any of those over the conversation they are about to have. He realizes his eyes must be just about bulging out of his head, but Arthur’s face is so vulnerable in its sincerity, Merlin can do nothing but answer him.

‘Yes,’ he breathes. ‘Yes I have.’ He doesn’t know why those are such difficult words to put together, with the prince gazing at him so intently, so Merlin does what he always does in moments of uncomfortable silences. He fills them. ‘There was a girl in the village, and she took me to the barn a few times. At first it was just a bit of hands and kisses you know, but then she wanted more and she told me how her mother made potions to stop women from conceiving. So one night we eh, well, did it.’ He swallows, his mouth so dry now he couldn’t continue even if he wanted to elaborate further. Which he doesn’t. Instead, he goes for shifting and pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets until the inside of his eyelids turn red.

‘Did you enjoy it?’

His hands fall down limply to his side so he can stare at Arthur. If his mouth is open in silent question, making him look slightly dimwitted, well there is nothing he can do about that right now. ‘Eh,’ he says when Arthur just looks and looks, the blue in his eyes wide enough to reveal the grey swirls, eyebrows tilted in question. ‘Eh, yeah it was eh- all right, I suppose, yeah.’

Arthur nods briefly and stares out in front of him, his elbows still resting on his pulled up knees, hands swinging between them in apparent relaxation, which would have fooled Merlin if the muscles and tendons of Arthur’s neck didn’t stand out like painfully taut ropes. Merlin swallows twice, wishing he could go drink from the river so his mouth would feel less like it has sand in it. Or maybe he could just stick his own head underwater until he drowned. ‘Why?’ he croaks out eventually. ‘Haven’t-?’ He leaves it hanging, physically unable to finish the question, because he is about to ask the crown _bloody_ prince if he has ever been _shagged_ and that is just too unhinged for words.

‘Yeah,’ Arthur tells him, chin almost pressed against the dip between his collarbones. ‘Yes I have.’ Merlin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, because for a moment there he was afraid he would have to give Arthur Pendragon the _talk_ (well, he could hardly see him going to Uther for it and who else would inform him?), but apparently the release of air is a loud one and Arthur glances at him beneath heavy eyelids, and snorts. ‘I just didn’t think it was all that, that’s all.’

‘Oh. Well. They say it is different, I mean- with different wo-.’

‘Yeah I _know_ that. I just-.’ Merlin sees Arthur swallow, as if there might be sand in his mouth too. ‘Never mind.’ Arthur goes to shift away but something, the curled up creature in his gut Merlin thinks, makes him grab the prince’s arm and say _no,_ a little louder than he intended. Arthur looks at him with astonishment, but without anger, so he continues. ‘You can talk to me. You know that don’t you? For all the crap that comes out of my mouth- you know you can trust me, right?’

At this Arthur’s eyebrow rises higher, as if implying, _really? Can I now?_ But he doesn’t say it, just sinks back and Merlin’s hand lingers a little longer on the bare arm than is strictly necessary. ‘Okay,’ he says at first, like a question before saying it more forcefully again. ‘Okay. But Merlin I swear to the Gods, if you ever breathe a word of this to _anyone_ ,’ and some of the fighting flame is back behind his blue eyes. Merlin is almost pocked in the face by a pointy finger when Arthur leans close enough for his breath to skitter over Merlin’s nose. ‘The merest _hint_ of a word Merlin, and you will spend an entire week in the stocks before I make your life so miserable, that week will be a happy memory.’

‘Right,’ Merlin gulps. ‘You have my word. Not a word.’ He wants to grin but a steady look from Arthur tells him that would be a mighty bad idea. Arthur breathes out slowly and the air comes out a little shakily, so Merlin frowns, worried now. ‘Arthur, what is going on?’

Arthur ignores him, stares ahead, and his jaw clenches as if he makes up his mind. ‘Have you ever been with a man?’ His eyes harden at Merlin’s silence and he knows it is being misunderstood so he answers, his voice steady.

‘Yes.’

Arthur’s hands twitch, but he stills again without looking at Merlin. ‘And did you enjoy that?’

Merlin starts to smile, despite himself. Arthur can’t see it with his gaze fixed on the flowing water, so Merlin presses his fingers into the skin of Arthur’s bare arm again, until he looks at him, which doesn’t take long at all and he says,

‘Yes.’

His smile stretches until it reaches his eyes and Arthur can’t seem to help smiling back a little. ‘Is that why you touched my hand that day?’ Arthur asks him, his voice calmer now, soft, almost intimate. Merlin flushes bright red but he knows he has to push through now. ‘I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.’ He wants to pull his hand away but Arthur anticipates it and grasps it beneath his own. Their eyes meet, briefly, faces closer together than before. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘Because I-‘ Merlin feels his breath flutter in his lungs, before it burst out of his mouth in a small, hitched gasp. Arthur just looks at him, waiting. ‘Because I am always touching your hands with purpose and I like them -it. But you were touching mine then and I - guess I wanted to touch without purpose, apart from to feel. If that makes sense.’

‘I think it does. Yes.’ Arthur tells him. They sit and look at each other in silence until it stretches past comfort and Merlin can’t stay suspended like that any longer. ‘Arthur?’

‘Yes?’

‘I would very much like to kiss you now, but since you are who you are, and I am who I am, I’m not going to.’

‘That’s all right,’ Arthur tells him.

‘It is?’

‘Yes.’

The hand that is holding Merlin’s moves to the side of his face, Arthur’s thumb stroking once over Merlin’s cheekbone, once over his slightly parted lips, to then be replaced by Arthur’s own.

  


~ ~ ~

 

Merlin doesn't realize he has been waiting for the small frown to disappear until it is gone. ‘What?’ Arthur asks him, when Merlin’s eyes travel from his forehead to his lips and to his eyes. Merlin reaches out and touches the smooth skin of Arthur’s brow. ‘Better,’ he says, and grins. ‘Better,’ Arthur concedes, leaning in and closing the small distance, so their foreheads rest together.

Merlin cups his hands on either side of Arthur’s face, thumbs bracketing his lips, before he leans closer, pressing their mouths together. Something flickers through Merlin’s closed eyelids, as if a small cloud moves away from the sun, but the sky is blue and clear. Arthur parts Merlin’s lips with his tongue, Merlin aligning them so the kiss can deepen, tongues can sweep together until they coax a groan from it isn’t quite clear whose throat. And then Merlin pushes against Arthur a little, not hard, just a suggestion that can easily be ignored if it is unwelcome. But Arthur yields to it with surprising ease and Merlin’s stomach jolts because this is _real_.

Merlin shifts when they are on the ground, folding one hand beneath Arthur’s neck for support, his thumb lightly brushing his hair, the other ghosting over his bare chest, drawing tiny patterns of exploration that only make sense to them both. He thinks there should be an edge of fear somewhere in all this, that Arthur is going to push him away and demand _what the hell, Merlin,_ but it all feels too right, like there is no other place they are supposed to be. The kiss moves, because there is so much to be tasted, to be felt, to be _licked_ and that is exactly what Merlin does, when his lips chase that strong jaw, when they find the dip where neck and shoulder meet. When his teeth graze over a collarbone, Arthur whispers _oh_ , his breath suspended and neck arching back, so Merlin pulls him closer.

He shifts between his thighs, laughing softly at Arthur’s incoherent disapproval at the remarkable presence of Merlin’s shirt and there is something short of a battle to remove it in one piece, that causes Merlin to briefly lose his balance. He lands more fully on top of Arthur than he intended. Arthur chokes out a startled _guh_ and after only a moment of widened eyes, he shifts in one fluent move, reversing their positions. His kiss is demanding, needing and everything that makes Merlin’s lungs contract, as if there are hands squeezing the air out of them. He braids his fingers into a tangle of Arthur’s hair, holding him where he needs him, until he can’t stand the building pressure any longer. His hips suddenly seem to inhale a life of their own and thrust up against Arthur’s. He stills in a chilling second of _too much_ but Arthur doesn’t even break their kiss when he moans _God yes_ , shifting to bring them closer together.

Merlin’s hands untangle themselves from Arthur’s hair and kneed into his shoulders and his back. When they find Arthur’s hips, his fingers tighten and Merlin is consumed by a mouth that finds every spot connected to the heat beneath his bellybutton. When Arthur’s teeth graze his earlobe, tongue flicking against it, Merlin squirms beneath him and whimpers in a way that he would have found mortifying only yesterday, but that finds his hands at the closing of Arthur’s breeches today. Arthur lifts accommodatingly, making room for his hand to slip between them, until he moans Merlin’s name in a way he never knew it could be voiced. Merlin’s free hand snakes up to Arthur’s neck again pulling him closer, bruising his lips with mouth and teeth and tongue. Arthur shifts against him, finding a rhythm that has nothing rhythmic but is frantic and wild in Merlin’s hand. He is trapped and can’t do anything but hold on until Arthur’s entire body jerks and he tilts his head toward the sun, with Merlin’s name on his tongue.

The sight is breathtaking and heartbreaking both. Merlin wouldn’t be able to find it within himself to look away if his life depended on it. All it takes then, for Merlin to come apart until he feels raw around the edges, is for Arthur to press his palm against the swelling in his trousers. For Arthur to whisper _I never knew it could be like this_ , through the haze of Merlin’s own, still pulsing orgasm. He can’t quite contain the wave of magic, that ripples from his toes all the way to his fingertips, still digging into Arthur’s back, where it leaks out a little, in small golden wisps.

  


~ ~ ~

 

He still feels the magic, simmering and restless under the surface, all through the ride home and into the next day, until Gaius finds him so fidgety at breakfast, he puts down his spoon with an irritated sigh.

‘What is it with you lately Merlin?’

‘I don’t know,’ Merlin says honestly, his eyes a little wide, as if there is more of the world to take in. His hands flutter from the spoon, to his mug, to the fruit bowl, to the knee that can’t stop dancing up and down. Gaius’s eyes narrow and he knocks over the porridge on purpose, just as he did all those years ago with the bucket of water. Instead of making it stop in midair this time, Merlin causes it to explode violently, coating the both of them and the entire room in sticky goop.

‘Merlin!’

‘I’m sorry!’ he squeals. ‘I’m sorry! I’ll clean it up!’ Merlin practically jumps to his feet, his eyes closing, breathing deeply in an attempt to harness the flailing power within him. First he cleans the table to make sure he has it under control, then Gaius and himself, the floor, the ceiling, the walls. When he is done, the edge of the frantic buzz beneath his skin seems to be taken off and he finds he can sit quietly for a while. Gaius watches him, brow furrowed, hands clasping and unclasping on the sparkly clean table. ‘I’m worried Merlin,’ he says, quietly. ‘There is something different about you.’

Merlin smiles. ‘Yes, there is isn’t there?’

Gaius thinks his old eyes must have fooled him, when he sees an almost skip to Merlin’s step on his way to attend to the prince.

~ ~ ~

 

It seems a little unfair now they have barely discovered this _other side_ to each other, that Arthur has to be at the King’s disposal for days on end, signing treaties, discussing tactics, talking taxes. Arthur however, wouldn’t be Arthur, if he didn’t put duty before himself. If that means glancing in his bored servant’s direction more often than necessary, if that means excusing himself once every two hours because he’s too hot, too cold, in need of something to eat, to drink, in want of some exercise, then no one thinks twice about it. Merlin however, wouldn’t be Merlin, if he didn’t follow Arthur wherever he went and if that means being kissed to the point of bruising, tasting wine on Arthur’s tongue, sweat on his neck and a quick hand against his groin, then who was Merlin to complain?

The all too brief encounters never manage to satisfy their need by the evening and more often than not, it is a frenzy of desperate hands in hair and on shoulders, either Merlin or Arthur pinned against the door, while the food slowly cools on the table.

Not tonight.

Arthur’s thumb tracks a slow path over Merlin’s jawline. His lips press unhurried and deep on his cheekbones, his eyelids, his neck. His teeth graze lazily over Merlin’s earlobe, who sighs, feeling every bone in his body turn into something warm and liquid. When Arthur murmurs _I want you_ , against the shell of his ear, Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s chest and pushes. The prince’s eyes widen a little in question but a small smile plays around his lips, tells him _okay, let’s do it your way_.

He has stripped prince Arthur off his royal garb many times, but never like this. He turns Arthur around, so he faces the window, the setting sunlight a sharp contrast to his outline, casting a long shadow across the stone floor. Arthur’s hair is like molten gold and Merlin is filled with a sudden ache he can’t explain.

Merlin’s fingers brush Arthur’s neck, before slowly dragging the coat down. While the arms slip through, he whispers a kiss where his fingers leave an invisible trail and Arthur shudders gently. Keeping his mouth close to Arthur’s back, his own breath reflected in his face, he folds around the prince and unties the laces of his shirt. Merlin’s hands slide down the slightly tensed arms, over the tight waist until they catch the hem and slowly tug the shirt back up and over his head. When Merlin’s long, pale fingers trail the path of the outlined V on Arthur’s back, he stares at them in wonder, as if he can’t quite believe they belong to him and he is the one allowed to touch the prince like this. When his middle finger rubs over the dip in Arthur’s lower back, just below the waistband, Arthur’s hands clench briefly, but immediately relax again. He turns his head, to watch Merlin out of the corner of his eye, lids already heavy.

The profile is so perfect, so beautiful it makes Merlin hurt a little, because he knows in comparison he is nothing.

And yet.

It really is _his_ hand that runs over Arthur’s shoulder, over the small white scar beneath the blade and he can’t resist leaning in and flicking it with his tongue. _His_ tongue that is making Arthur breathe a little more shallow. He walks around, hand never leaving smooth skin and goes to stand before Arthur, whose eyes are a bit wild, whose lips are a little pink and moist. Merlin carefully touches every inch of Arthur’s bared body, taking in what makes him inhale sharply, what makes him bite his bottom lip and how he flushes darker at the small uncontrolled sound he makes, hands fisted by his side, when Merlin’s nail catches on a nipple.

Merlin feels how Arthur trembles slightly, so he leans in and brushes his lips over the pink, tightening skin, drawing a long held breath from Arthur’s lungs. Encouraged by the sound, he flicks the nipple with his tongue. When his teeth graze over it, his magic practically purrs inside him, because the prince can no longer restrain himself and kneads his fingers into Merlin’s hair, to keep him exactly there. Slowly Merlin sucks, licks, then kisses his way down. He blows cold air over Arthur’s navel, alternates with a hot breath, then trails the fluffed hairs beneath it with one finger, up to where they disappear beneath the waistband.

When he looks up from his kneeling position, Arthur’s eyes are half closed, head tilted back, hands still cradling Merlin’s face. His thumbs keep drawing small circles over the silky skin beneath his cheekbones. Merlin unties the laces of Arthur’s boots and it takes a moment before he can bring him down enough to coax him into lifting first one foot, and then the other. Next, he unties Arthur’s trousers and when he glances up again, a little self-conscious, Arthur’s solid stare is locked on him. Without breaking eye contact, he breathes over the bulge straining at the fabric, satisfied when the stare wavers, when the eyelids flutter, just a little. He presses a flat palm against the bulge once, before proceeding in tugging down the trousers, and casting them to the side. Arthur is trembling more noticeably now and Merlin feels how his hands are resting on him more for support than mere touch.

The prince’s knees almost buckle when Merlin runs his tongue over his length once, starting at the base, leaving off at the tip. Arthur’s eyes are closed but his breathing is uneven and Merlin wonders if their hearts beat at the same stuttering pace that fills his head. He places a hand around the base of Arthur’s cock, causing the grip on his shoulders to tighten almost painfully but Merlin doesn’t mind. He licks the head, squeezing the base at the same time, pushes his tongue over the ridge beneath the soft foreskin. Arthur’s _oh fuck Merlin_ makes him smile. He swirls his tongue around the head slowly, knowing it must be driving Arthur crazy, but he wants to hear him voice it, so he is unrelenting. He squeezes and releases his hand once more, as his tongue flicks and curls, before he takes Arthur’s cock in his mouth, sucking his way down hard, humming appreciatively when Arthur tells him,

‘Oh my God _yes_ , that is just-.’

He tightens his grip, drawing his lips up and down again, tongue pressing against the underside and Arthur’s knees go weak. His voice is hoarse and low when he orders Merlin,

‘Bed-, now.’

And for once, he obeys.

  


~ ~ ~

 

Arthur needs to get out of the castle the next day, the stuffiness of the rooms and council members beginning to grate on his nerves, in a way that makes him feel at odds with the world. So that is how Merlin ends up, the heat of late summer finally dwindling slowly, in the practice grounds again - sans helmet this time - being bashed about by the prince.

‘Come on Merlin,’ he teases, circling the wary boy, ‘give me something to work with.’

‘Why can’t you go slap about the other knights? They seem to enjoy this sort of thing.’

‘Because they trained this morning and I missed it because I was listening to Lord Baldorf whine about the barbarians in the neighboring kingdom stealing his sheep. So it is your _job_ ,’ his sword flashes twice with a speed that doesn’t seem entirely human and Merlin can only just bring up the shield, having to drop his own sword in the process to hold it up with both hands, ‘to keep me entertained.’

The blade is pressing to his chin, Arthur’s face close and bright in excitement, his pupils blown wide and if Merlin is beginning to understand the small nuances that shimmer and meld to come together in Arthur’s always expressing face, this means he is aroused. And not even a little.

‘I can _Sire_ ,’ Merlin tells him, his breath coming hard and heaving and not only from exertion, but because there is something very powerful about Arthur when he holds a deadly weapon pressed against his neck like that, ‘think of other ways to entertain you.’

‘That, I know,’ Arthur tells him, grinning, following it with a promise of _later_ , that has Merlin’s own gut contract in a deliciously painful way, before spinning on his heels and putting more distance between them. Arthur flicks his sword once in command for Merlin to pick up his own and it is only when they are locked in Arthur’s room, Merlin’s back pressed against Arthur’s chest, strong legs wrapped around him, the hot water relaxing his muscles to the point of sleepiness, that he thinks maybe, after all, being bashed about by Arthur isn’t so bad.

He realizes he must have been thinking out loud when Arthur laughs gleefully, his head thrown back in that way that always makes Merlin a little bit happy, when he knows it is his doing.

  


~ ~ ~

 

He _knows_ Arthur would have found out sooner or later, of course he does. It always has been an unavoidable outcome, like a falling rock will always plunge to the earth no matter how high you throw it. He just hadn’t quite imagined it like this.

Lying back in the safety of his own bed, he had pictured Arthur’s life hanging in the balance, with himself standing tall, proud and powerful, maybe a blood red fire roaring at his back, (and a cape, a cape would have been nice. All the knights get one), black sky above and gold in his eyes. He had seen himself saving Arthur, driving away an enemy terrifying but invisible in his imaginings. And maybe then Arthur would have found it in his heart to _understand_ , to know not all magic is evil, to recognize all Merlin wants, is to be by his side.

He hadn’t quite anticipated it would happen with Arthur’s cock in his mouth.

The magic had been humming, no _singing_ , for days now, always precisely beneath the surface, waiting, biding its time to burst out, ever since that moment Arthur had kissed him by the river. Now, with every nerve in his body standing to attention, Arthur’s soft moans filling his mind and soul, those strong fingers entangled in his hair, pulling, encouraging, begging for more, it had been impossible to keep it in check. It had flooding him completely, spilling out of his every single pore and leaking from his fingertips, enveloping the both of them with golden tendrils, soft and cool and soothing in the stifling air.

So he stills, drawing his mouth away with a soft _pop_ , afraid to look at Arthur because he still thrums with it. The gold still occupies his eyes while the room fills with every fragrance Merlin has ever missed, with every memory that has ever been dear to him, with every moment that made him happy.

Arthur stares at him, Godlike in the golden glow, but Merlin sees none of the anger or fear he expects. ‘You are beautiful,’ Arthur tells him, swallowing deeply as he takes in the golden eyes, before reaching out and cupping Merlin’s face with both hands. ‘It’s all right, I have known for quite some time now.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Merlin tells him, he wants to cast his eyes down but it is quite simply inconceivable to look away from the breathtaking vision that is Arthur, bathed in his magic.

‘I was waiting for you to tell me. I wanted you to trust me enough to-,’ Arthur blinks and their is a brief flash of hurt in his eyes that makes Merlin’s mind reel. ’To know I could never harm you.’

‘How long have you known?’

‘I put two and two together the night you rode out to save those children. I couldn’t sleep. I was - worried, I suppose.’ Arthur grins a little sheepishly, as if it is all a bit embarrassing to admit to, but all it does, is make Merlin’s heart stutter loudly in his chest. When he felt the violent burst of magic leave his being, he didn’t think he’d ever see that smile again and yet, there it is.

‘So I kept thinking about who you could’ve meant when you talked about your theoretical sorcerer. And then it occurred to me, you are so loyal to anything that is good, to anyone you care about, you would never have risked someone else’s neck. But you would risk your own. And I liked to think it was because you started to trust me enough. I won’t pretend I wasn’t angry at first. But I think I was angry because you hid this from me, not because you have actual magic.’

Merlin swallows hard. ‘Even without it, I would stand between you and death.’

‘I know.’

‘I think, I have it because of you. Because it knew we would be- like this and, someone needs to stand between you and those who want to destroy you. And someone with magic alone wouldn’t suffice. It needed to be someone with magic who also-.’ He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to say it, Arthur knows, because he feels it too. The magic is a result of the bond, not the other way around. He wants Arthur to know that, he wants it to _be_ that. He wants this to be more than just their destinies together.

‘Merlin, my magical shield.’

‘Yes,’ he grins. ‘I did wonder why we never had that talk you promised.’

‘I wanted you to come to me. To tell me,’ he laughs a little, very softly, barely a breath in the air. ‘You are such an _idiot_ Merlin, for not trusting me.’ The grin stretches into something that isn’t embarrassed at all, but a little knowing, and mischievous. ‘But I guess showing me is a much _much_ better idea.’ The blue eyes twinkle and Merlin can’t resist. His chest feels light, like he inhaled tiny fluttering creatures rather than air, so he leans forward, guiding Arthur back into the sheets, so much whiter and fluffier now they are soaked in his magic. His eyes flash golden again and he hears the small intake of breath but there is no fear in those large eyes, only wonder.

A soft breeze plays across Arthur’s arms, ruffling the hairs ever so lightly. It could come from the window, but it moves in a pattern that is by no means natural. It curls around Arthur’s neck, cooling the sweat that is pooled there, before moving down his chest, following the trail across his stomach, until Arthur has to arch into the bed because it feels like a dozen soft hands caressing him all at once. When the breath of wind tickles the hair that forms a path to where all the lines of his stomach come together, Arthur groans, his hands tightening on Merlin’s arms and-

‘Shit Merlin, are you doing that?’

‘Yes,’ he says, with a half-smile, because it started out as teasing but the sight of Arthur, _God_ the _sight_ of him.

He allows the breeze to thicken into a silvery strand of comfortable warmth, curling down until it enfolds Arthur’s erection, probing further still into that secret place of pure pleasure, drawing a cry from Arthur’s throat. When Arthur can’t stand it any longer, he drags Merlin down until their mouths meet in a kiss that is promise and fulfilment all in one.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Arthur tells him afterwards, when they dose in the sunlight tumbling through the window in swirls of dust and something untouchable. Merlin plays with Arthur’s fingers, gently running his own over the back of his hand, then his palm. Merlin lifts his head a little, better to look at him, eyebrows arched in question since they haven’t spoken for quite a while now. ‘I was angry,’ Arthur clarifies. ‘I felt- betrayed and-. Fuck, it _hurt_ Merlin. It really did.’

The words twist into his stomach and Merlin winces, turning so he can cup Arthur’s face and tell him he is sorry so very sorry but Arthur shakes his head minutely, wanting to finish what he started. ‘I was so angry I told myself I was wrong, that it couldn’t possibly be you, so I sat on that for a while. And I watched you. And I waited. And I started remembering all those times I should’ve died. All those times disaster struck and yet never deep enough to kill me. All because of you.’

When the prince smiles it is like a first lungful of air, after being under water for too long, so Merlin breathes it in, deeply. ‘If only you told me Merlin, so much sooner.’

So he says it then, more heartfelt than any other thing he ever apologized for.

‘I’m sorry, so sorry. I _wanted_ to tell you. So many times, especially since-. I really wanted to but it seemed like there was never enough time, like there could never be enough time in a life to explain what- I felt and how I needed to protect you from- everything. I really- Arthur. There was never a moment where I didn’t wish, _hope_ for you to accept me for who I am, underneath the magic.’

‘I know. I understand.’ Arthur’s smile begins to stretch into one of those grins that Merlin is getting to know, intimately. ‘Now kiss me again to make up for it, you idiot. And after that, you’ll still owe me several other sexual favors.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Merlin grins, leaning in, ghosting his lips over Arthur’s. ‘How many?’

‘As many as it takes.’

‘Takes for what?’

‘For you to never leave.’

And he curls around him then, holding onto Arthur as if afraid that letting go, allowing him to move, will bring the moment where he blinks and the world is a different place.

 

  
Arthur doesn’t understand when Merlin retreats within himself, after Morgana’s disappearance. He needs the endless optimism more than ever, not knowing until now how much he actually relies on it, Merlin's reassurance that everything will be all right, that they will find her. Instead, Merlin is withdrawn, unnaturally quiet and sometimes wakes up with a strangled cry, soaking wet in the middle of the night. He always retreats to his own room after that and Arthur can never go back to sleep.

His father becomes more and more unbearable, tearing through Camelot with every force he can think of, including his own son. Arthur tries very hard to not ask himself if Uther’s search would be so unrelenting, if it was him who was missing.

The first scout to tell of Morgana’s apparent residence with the Druids is executed. The second doesn’t go to the King, but to the prince, explaining how he saw her being trained in magic by a woman with long hair and a boy with piercing blue eyes. Arthur rides out to see it for himself. He locks Merlin up in the dungeons, ordering him to be blindfolded and chained with four of his most trusted guards to watch him twenty four hours a day, so he can’t use his magic to escape. Merlin curses him, yells, tears his flesh open at the iron on his wrists, and eventually reaches out to Kilgharrah with his mind.

It is Lancelot who will listen to his pleas in the end, and who will ride out to find the dragon watching over the prince in a meadow, held in a magical state of unconsciousness, his body obviously tortured and broken.

Arthur doesn’t say anything when he sees his own wounds heal faster than they should, while Merlin’s wrists remain bloody and chafed. He just holds on to him when they are alone and lets Merlin kiss him to sleep until he forgets to flinch at the sound of the iron rod being pulled out of the fire. Only when Arthur’s skin is smooth again, no scars where rightfully there should have been angry red ones, do Merlin’s own injuries disappear and he makes Arthur promise to never ride out into any kind of battle without him again.

Arthur tells Uther that Morgana is dead, that he buried her himself, he thinks it is kinder than the truth. He doesn’t realize the King doesn’t deserve his kindness, until Uther tells him Morgana was his real sister. Something inside him cracks and his father will never seem like that person deserving of his full devotion and loyalty again. It is also the moment he stops feeling a little guilty about hiding Merlin under his father’s very nose.

The two of them fold together in an existence that must be too good to last, but that they can’t let go of. They steal afternoons in Arthur’s bedroom, at the clearing by the river, or sometimes just lying side by side staring at the sky on top of a hill overlooking Camelot, talking about everything and nothing. They distinctly ignore the feeling they aren’t really supposed to have this.

  


~ ~ ~

 

The first time Arthur goes down on Merlin, he can’t quite believe the reaction he extracts from him. In the beginning he doesn’t understand why Merlin tries to scramble up the bed as he licks the slit of Merlin’s leaking cock, trying not to pull a face at the bitter taste. But then he notices how Merlin’s knees tremble by his side, how his hands are bunched up around fistfuls of his sheets and hears how he whimpers _ohgodohgodohgo_ _d_ when he does it again. He grins when Merlin tries to keep himself propped up on his elbows, tries to keep his head up so he can watch, but it continues to flop down between his shoulders and his elbows slip away from underneath him again and again.

He tickles his tongue between the head and the soft skin around it and Merlin chokes on a groan so filthy it curls up right beneath Arthur’s own bellybutton. He takes him in his mouth completely then, pressing his tongue against the base and sucks his way down and when Merlin moans wildly, head hitting the pillows with a thud, Arthur finds out he actually really enjoys doing this. When he sets into a rhythm, sliding up and down slowly, Merlin breathlessly saying _Arthur_ , he also finds out he is willing to do just about anything to hear him say it again.

He can feel Merlin tightening, starting with his toes curling, calves tensing, back arching, hands covering his face first and then reaching for Arthur’s shoulders, trying to push him away. But Arthur is having none of that. He picks up pace, wrapping one hand around the base of Merlin’s cock and squeezing, his other reaching for one of Merlin’s hands and their fingers tangle together. Suddenly one hand pulls hard on his hair and he can’t suppress a moan of his own and it throbs around Merlin. That is when Merlin comes apart, writhing and crying in something that sounds like shock or panic. Arthur swallows whatever Merlin gives him, before straightening and wrapping himself around the trembling boy, that is lying limply splayed on top of his bed, panting, eyes screwed shut. He thinks it is really quite ridiculous to feel so pleased with himself, but he can’t help it as he slowly kissed every inch of Merlin’s face.

  


~ ~ ~

 

‘Do you understand? That there have been moments- things I have had to do, that I am not proud of?’

There is an agonizing stretch of time where Merlin thinks Arthur might make fun of this, but instead he twists in his saddle a little and looks at Merlin, really looks at him as if he sees him for the first time. Not the clumsy servant who runs his mouth off at every possible, and worst, moment imaginable, but the being with the power that sings beneath his skin. Arthur squints a little and Merlin wonders if the magic is leaking from his pores again.

‘You have killed.’ Arthur says, it is not a question.

‘Yes.’

‘For me.’

‘Without hesitation.’

Arthur nods, urging on his horse down the only path available.

‘How many?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it really. It used to give me nightmares, made me think I am something to hate and fear. I was-.’ He hesitates, his eyes on Arthur.’

‘Yes?’

‘I was always afraid you would fear me too.’

‘I think,’ Arthur tells him, eyes narrowing in consideration. ‘I think I would have, if I didn’t know you. And still, I think the unknown depths of your power are something to be afraid of but I don’t think - no, I _know_ you would never - what I mean is, I don’t fear the person underneath all the power.’ Any other time Merlin might have laughed at Arthur’s clumsy explanation, but he feels there is a careful promise in the words, even if he is too worried about what lies ahead of them, to think about what exactly it might be. ‘Is that where we are going?’ Arthur asks him, when the path widens again and Merlin urges his horse beside the prince’s. ‘To visit one of the moments you are not proud of?’

Merlin swallows, trying to shift his thundering heart back where it belongs. It had surprised him when Arthur had just accepted his word, his calm announcement there was somewhere they needed to go, something he needed to show Arthur before he could spend another night with him. ‘Because you need to know me completely, as I know you,’ Merlin had told him and Arthur had nodded, they had packed provisions, doing nothing that night but entwine fingers and gaze at the stars.

‘Merlin I don’t want to -,’ Arthur sighs, a soft breath hissing between his teeth. ‘Should I be worried? Will everything be different after this?’

The question burns like acid on an open wound and all Merlin can do for the longest time is watch his fingernails, as they pick at a loosened bit of leather on his reins. It is small consolation to hear the doubt in Arthur’s voice, to know that he wants to fight whatever blame or anger he might feel. But Merlin doesn’t know if he will still want to fight it when he knows.

‘Merlin?’

‘I don’t know. You might hate me after this and that would be -‘ Unbearable, for the both of them. ‘But there is nothing I can do about that now. And you have to know. Everything.’

Arthur nods, returning his gaze to the path ahead and they continue in silence for a while. ‘Where are we going?’ he asks at last when the trees part and an almost perfectly circular meadow rolls out before them. A thin rain falls but it is not cold, a loud wind blows but it does not bite and the air itself is fragrant with the scent of freshly picked apples and Lilies of the Valley.

‘We are here,’ Merlin tells him, dismounting and walking to the middle of the circle as if he is drawn there. Arthur remains by the horses, his eyes never leaving Merlin. When Merlin turns, he sees the shock Arthur is carefully trying to keep from showing. He can see how Arthur’s eyes finally pass through the illusion that is the servant, he can feel how his skin glows warm with gold, and he knows it is the Dragonlord Arthur witnesses, as his arms rise above his head and he calls upon Kilgharrah.

‘It was you, who released him.’

‘Yes.’ There is no point denying it. After all, this is why he brought Arthur here. The hard edge around his mouth is more than he can stand, but stand it he must. Merlin wants to walk forward and reach out, place his hands on those slightly hunched shoulders, but he remains where he is. He wants to plead and explain and beg please _don’t hate me, please don’t, it will destroy me_ but he remains silent, waiting for judgement to fall, wondering if this is the moment where his world shatters.

Arthur’s hand drops from the reins of both horses and he takes a step forward, but his eye is wary on the dragon and he goes no nearer. A single streak of sunlight breaks through the low clouds, even though the rain still falls soundlessly and through happenstance or not, it encompasses Arthur like a liquid cloak of yellow.

There is a brief struggle, eyes flickering between Merlin and the dragon. ‘I take it you had good reason to set him free.’

‘A promise in return for saving many lives. I had to keep my word.’

‘And I take it, he is now under your control?’

Merlin glances up to see what Kilgharrah thinks of that, but if dragons can look unperturbed, then he manages quite well. ‘Yes.’

‘So much destruction.’ The twist around Arthur’s mouth is one of pain and it slices through Merlin like a sword. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he thought it would make a difference. He opens his mouth but doesn’t know what will come out when the dragon finally speaks.

‘Young Prince.’ The sound is like a tremor of the earth itself and Arthur’s eyes widen in the way Merlin expected they would but didn’t, when the beast first landed. As if the voice makes it more real. ‘Do not blame the warlock for my mistakes. I am his servant until the bond of life is broken and I am remorseful for the pain I have caused. My grievance is with your father, not with the people who died in the fires I created, when Merlin freed me. I have made a promise to do no more harm and I will keep it.’

Arthur runs a hand over his face and through his hair, the expression on his face something torn between awe and disbelief. Now more than ever, Merlin wants to take that glorious face between his fingers and kiss it until he has soaked up all traces of pain and worry. But he knows it is not over yet.

‘Kilgharrah,’ Merlin says, looking up at the dragon who immediately shifts his gaze from prince to warlock, but not before he sees something else flash in Arthur’s eyes, something close to shock. ‘You must swear fealty to Arthur and through him to the crown he will wear in the future. Just in case… in case I am not here one day. That way he has someone by his side to protect and serve him.’

If dragons could smile, Merlin thinks then, this is as close as it gets. The gigantic mouth twitches, revealing teeth Merlin still doesn’t feel too comfortable being close to, no matter how many times the dragon would swear allegiance.

‘So the day has come,’ is all Kilgharrah says, only it is almost a purr that has Merlin raise his eyebrows at Arthur. But Arthur’s mouth is open now and he is staring at Merlin with a look of open respect. ‘You,’ he says pointing at the beast. ‘The dragon,’ pointing at Merlin. ‘I,’ the hand flails a little aimlessly but his eloquent address is interrupted by Kilgharrah who bows his head low, bringing himself eye to face with the prince.

‘Arthur Pendragon,’ the voice reverberates through the trees and the ground and the innermost regions of Merlin himself. ‘From this day forward until the day I join the rest of my kind beyond the isle of Avalon, I will be by your side in your quest to freedom, peace and unity of Albion.’

Arthur hesitates only a moment before straightening. He places a hand on his heart and in any other situation the gesture would be garish, but here it is perfect and makes Merlin’s innards tangle up a little. ‘I am honored and proud to accept your pledge. I promise to protect you from those who mean you harm, as I would any other subject under my reign.’

The dragon nods, once before straightening. ‘Now disarm yourself.’

Arthur frowns a little but unstraps the sword form his waist.

‘Take out your weapon.’

Arthur does, as the dragon holds out a large front claw. ‘Stab me.’

‘What? I-‘

‘Do it.’

‘I - I can’t.’

‘Do not worry youngling, non-magical weapons only draw blood when I allow them to. Go ahead.’

Arthur swallows hard but runs his sword over the open claw. He doesn’t even press very hard but the leathery skin parts beneath it.

‘Hold out your scabbard.’

As he does so, the dragon tilts his paw, allowing one drop of the silvery- golden blood to fall onto the sheath. As the dragon speaks again, they can see it transform, from its unremarkable state to something entwined with symbols of a language long dead or not yet born. The brown leather transforms into a color white, unlike any Merlin has ever seen on a beast. ‘The sword that goes with this has already known your hand and will do so again. So long as you carry this sheath my Lord, no mortal weapon will deal you a death blow.’

Arthur stares at it for a long time and if Merlin had been standing closer, he might have seen the moisture glistening in his eyes. There is a long, long moment where Merlin witnesses dragon and prince gazing at each other, as if they are having a silent conversation, but when Merlin asks him about it later, Arthur will tell him it was nothing.

 

When the dragon is gone, they are still standing apart, Arthur closer to the edge of the circle than the middle. He seems to realize this and steps forward, holding out a reaching hand.

‘Merlin.’

Upon seeing the expression Merlin knows he is wearing but cannot hide, Arthur frowns and shakes his head. ‘Merlin I understand, don’t worry. Did you really think I-.’

Arthur is about to touch his face but Merlin steps back, shaking his own head in turn, his eyes on the trees, on the ground, on Arthur’s boots, anywhere but his face. The scent of apple and flowers is gone, replaced by something he doesn’t quite recognize but associates with loss and despair all the same. He vaguely wonders if maybe it comes from within himself.

‘This is not everything. There is more.’

And he tells him all. All the secrets gnawing at him at night when Arthur is asleep in the crook of his arm. He tells him of how he set Freya free and then lost her, of how he knew about Mordred being evil incarnated, of how he poisoned Morgana. He looks at Arthur then. He holds his eyes wide open, past comfort, past dryness and sting, because he wants to imprint this face to the back of his skull, so it is all he’ll ever see when he blinks. In case now is the moment where everything shatters in too many pieces to gather up again and hold together.

Arthur steps back a little, his hand in his hair again, as it always is when he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He can see the contained disappointment and anger beneath the surface, writhing beneath the skin. He can see it in the way Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, two, three times as he tries to swallow past this new development. He can see it in the fist clenching too tightly around the still unstrapped scabbard. He can see it in the straightening of his back and the tightening of his eyes, because that is how Arthur deals with injury. He can see it in the way Arthur can’t quite look at him and he is suddenly cold, like he might be bleeding somewhere and all the heat is leaking out of him.

It is eternity rolled into mere breaths, before Arthur speaks again.

‘I understand how the things you did were decisions that needed to be made. I don’t see how you made them without me however. And I don’t see how I can look upon you the same again. I know you Merlin, but at the same time I don’t. I- I need, some time.’

And with that, Merlin witnesses Arthur stumble to his horse, swing his leg over its back and with a final look over his shoulder, disappear down the trail. Only when the wet grass is pressing against his cheek, does Merlin realize he has collapsed, excess magic dripping from his fingers and eyes.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
When Arthur returns, the sky is darkening and Merlin is still lying in the damp grass, hair and clothes soaked through. He doesn’t quite know what cry the prince voices, it might be his name or something else. All that matters, is that he is back and Merlin sits up, shivering with violent, uncontrollable bursts every few seconds. ‘Merlin, for goodness sake, _do something_.’

‘About what?’ he wants to know, only it takes him two tries to form the words around his clattering teeth. Arthur swipes a thumb over his face and there is golden liquid clinging to it when it comes away. ‘Stop the rain, dry yourself out, build a shelter, _anything,_ before we both catch our deaths!’ Arthur says and he tries to put the _you are such an idiot_ tone to his voice but is too worried to make it count.

‘Oh,’ Merlin says a little dumbly, and for once might agree with the idiot part. The magic practically jumps from him, eager and sharp. He doesn’t even have to utter a word and in the blink of a golden eye they are both dry, comfortable, on a blanket of thick green moss with the canopy of the most beautiful crab apple tree Merlin has ever seen, sprouting up out of nowhere to keep them protected from the lessening drizzle. ‘You came back.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Does that mean you forgive me?’

‘It means there is nothing to forgive. You did what you had to do even though the decisions must have torn you apart. I just wish you had allowed me to share in your burden.’

Merlin nods, weakly. ‘From now on I will.’

Arthur smiles, reaches out a hand and entangles it with Merlin’s fingers. ‘From now on _we_ will.’

He doesn’t know if it is the touch, the words, or the fact that his bones are warming slightly in the dry air but the implications of Arthur being here, of him returning, of coming back for him after everything he said, start to sink in.

Arthur’s thumb draws little circles on his wrist, where his pulse picks up speed with every rotation. He twists his hand so he can run his own fingers over the soft skin on the inside of Arthur’s palm. The touch is minute but it builds an energy and tension that has both their hearts swell and contract with an eagerness that makes their chests ache. When the soft circling is suddenly replaced by a firmly gripping hand, fingers encircling his wrist and digging in deep enough to make white indentations, Merlin’s eyes snap up, lock on Arthur’s and just like that he is hard.

Before this, they have been eager for each other, perhaps a little clumsy in shy exploration of their bodies. Now, there is a new sort of hunger, a ferociousness with which Arthur’s mouth possesses Merlin’s. He kisses him with a deep need, as if he found something precious he thought he had lost. Arthur parts Merlin’s lips with his tongue, pressing into his mouth once, before licking a wet path down his throat. He bites at the shadow beneath his jaw, as he pushes him into the moss. With the moan it extracts from Merlin’s mouth, the magic is released from his fingertips and envelops them both in a blanket of white and gold that tingles where it joins skin.

‘I want-‘ Arthur says, his voice breaking when Merlin shifts into him, pressing their hips together in urgent need.

‘Yes,’ Merlin tells him, pulling at the jacket and then the hem of Arthur’s shirt. It takes some tugging and impatient wrestling but before long they are pressed together skin to skin, flushed and hot where ever it touches. Arthur’s eyes reflect the blue widening of Merlin’s, when he takes Arthur’s fingers in his mouth and licks them wet with one long, drawn out stroke.

‘Yes,’ Merlin repeats.

The feeling of Arthur’s fingers inside him is no longer untried but it still sends stuttering shivers down his spine as he arches his back off the ground, the magic soothing where it burns. He wraps his hand around Arthur’s heavy erection, flicking his thumb over the head, wet and glistening and perfect. He squeezes it just when Arthur’s fingers find that spot that makes him buck against his hand and they both moan names and endearments that would surely be embarrassing if they weren’t swallowed by each other’s mouths. Still it isn’t enough. Arthur hisses in frustration when Merlin bites his shoulder and when he shifts out of his hand, his cock pressing where his fingers disappear, his voice rough with _Merlin I-,_ Merlin nods, eyes wider than ever. He mewls in a way that would have made Arthur laugh under any other circumstance, when Arthur removes his fingers and turns him over, but they are soon replaced by the soft press of Arthur’s tongue. Merlin’s gasp borders on the obscene and it takes all his willpower and then some, not to grind down on Arthur’s mouth. He licks and sucks and bites at his hole until Merlin writhes in desperation, whimpering _please Arthur, please I can’t hold on-._

‘Are you sure?’ Arthur whispers in his ear, his cock pressing into the cooling patch of his own saliva and Merlin needs to fight to retain his vision as the pressure increases. But Arthur’s weight is reassuring against his back, and when he curls one arm underneath Merlin’s chest, he nods. Arthur drives into him then with a long, drawn out groan. He moves down in one swift stroke and Merlin tastes blood on the cry he smothers. He pants, afraid for a second he will pass out but Arthur holds still, cradling him, pressing kisses against his neck, keeping up a steady murmuration of words, that are Merlin’s name and sounds that make no sense but are comforting anyway. And again the magic soothes where it burns.

‘Am I hurting you?’ Arthur whispers against his cheek, shifting slightly. Even though it does hurt, stretching him too far but at the same time, strangely, not far enough, Merlin finds he can’t say yes. He twists around a little, feeling Arthur’s breath ghost over his lips and he shakes his head, because it is enough that Arthur cares. Even though he can feel him tremble, fighting against a need that must be overwhelming. So when Arthur moves again, slowly and carefully at first, the burn is replaced by a warmth that starts at the base of his spine, runs all the way up into his neck. Merlin throws his head back when Arthur’s cock rubs over that same pressure point. With an almost animalistic groan, Arthur bites his throat when he pushes into him and the movement increases, catching him _just there_ every other stroke.

The feeling of being so close, of almost being one, is something nearly beyond endurance. He thinks he should voice it somehow, because surely these feelings are too much to be felt more than once in a lifetime. All he manages is, ‘Arthur you are-, everything, you-,’ before his voice breaks in an almost sob. Arthur seems to understand, or at least shares a similar sentiment, because his hands cling to Merlin’s skin in a manner that nears desperation, his forehead pressing into Merlin's shoulder.

Their movements increase, almost lose rhythm and Merlin is pushing up as often as Arthur is pushing down, driving them both crazy, gasping, fingers alternately digging in earth and moss and skin. The pressure is building inside him to the point where Merlin thinks he’ll break, or lose his mind, or _something_. When he finally comes, the heat shooting through his entire body, seed spilling into the moss beneath him, it is with Arthur’s arms wrapped around him, his nails digging into the forearms clutching his chest, a white heat filling his vision. Arthur can’t stand the tight muscles contracting around him and follows immediately after with an all embodying shudder, before collapsing, pinning them both down to the ground. The air around them is warm and filled with scents of earth and fresh leaves, Merlin’s magic blanketing them both in a cocoon of soundness and protection.

‘You know the saying “to love something to pieces”?’ Arthur whispers, when they are lying side by side, fingers tangled together.

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I love every piece of you.’

Merlin thinks he’ll choke then, on the thickness that has settled in his chest. He has to nestle his face into the curve of Arthur’s neck, because he can’t quite look at him without bursting. The magic is less restrained. It leaks out of his fingertips, reaching, reaching for what he wants really, and Arthur smiles lazily, watching the golden strands of warmth curl around his bare chest, in a caress he knows comes from Merlin’s inner most being.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
It takes them two days to figure out something isn’t quite right.

At first it’s, ‘It’ll be fine Arthur, really. Probably just a fever from being out in the cold and wet for too long.’

Arthur frowns, but nods anyway, telling Merlin he should take the remainder of the day off. To rest, drink some of Gaius’s ghastly potions that could scare the dead back to life with their taste alone, and return the next day.

Only then it is worse.

They have to keep Merlin in his small bedroom, hidden from the world, because his magic is slowly twisting out of control. Things shatter to bits when he dreams, or float to the middle of the room and crash down when he wakes. A Gaius driven half mad with panic, tries to keep Arthur away but with a, ‘It’s all right Gaius, I know,’ the prince pushes past the physician and into Merlin’s room. If the old man finds it odd for a future king to feel a servant’s forehead and hold his hand, he doesn’t show it. One look at the golden liquid leaking from Merlin’s eyes is enough for Arthur to hiss, ‘Who can we trust?’.

‘Guinevere,’ Gaius says without hesitation and Arthur has her summoned.

‘He has _magic_?’ she whispers, her eyes wide in shock when Arthur explains. ‘No time, we need to move him somewhere safe.’

‘The Northern wing is empty,’ she tells him. ‘That corner of the castle is too cold and drafty in winter and has been emptied out already.’

‘Then we move him there tonight. Prepare a room in the meantime and tell _no one_.’

‘Of course Sire,’ she curtsies and hurries out.

‘Do something Gaius,’ Arthur tells him. He stares at Merlin, curled up in his small bed with beads of sweat pearling like droplets of gold, light on his forehead. ‘Anything.’ The word seems to trigger a thought and he regards the old man with narrowing eyes. ‘ _Anything_.’

Merlin wakes in his new bedroom. 'A bed fit for a King', Arthur tells him, with a small smile. _Yes, but is it fit for a warlock?_

‘It is fit for you.’

‘Your father-,’ Merlin croaks and Arthur winces a little. The magic seems to have permeated Merlin’s very being, turning his skin into flaxen wax, his eyes sometimes bright green when alternating between blue and yellow. He is otherworldly in his beauty and Arthur presses a kiss to his lips. Merlin has forgotten what he means to say, by the time a violent shudder has Arthur step away in a hurry. Merlin frowns in question, until he jerks wildly and uncontrollably, a white force shooting from his entire body. It fills the room with a blinding light before dimming and sizzling to nothing.

‘Has that been happening, a lot?’ Merlin asks, when he clings to consciousness, exhaustion showing in much more than just his shaky voice.

‘Every once in a while,’ Arthur tells him. ‘Knocked me back the first time.’

Merlin’s eyes widen and Arthur hurries forward as he sees the panic bloom. ‘We’ll figure this out Merlin, we will, I promise.’

‘I can’t stay here.’ Merlin tries to get up, but his elbows are trembling under his weight and he knows that means his knees won’t be able to carry him to the door, never mind out of Camelot.

‘You can’t go anywhere Merlin,’ Arthur tells him, but he says it like he knows that isn’t really the truth.

It takes longer and longer for Merlin to recover between the violent burst of magic that tear themselves away from his very being. He sleeps, restlessly, moaning and shivering one moment, sweating the next. Sometimes he cries, quiet tears in his sleep, speaking of things Arthur doesn’t quite understand, but frightening him more than any army he could ever face. The gold that seems to leak out of Merlin’s every pore, his tear ducts and after a while his ears, becomes dull and lacks any of the beauty Arthur used to see in it. When it takes a full twenty four hours after a particularly nasty explosion of magic that set the curtains on fire, before Merlin even stirs again, Arthur starts to wonder if this magic is somehow supposed to sustain Merlin. He won’t even contemplate what that means, what would happen if it runs out.

It takes the prince another week to come to the conclusion he knows has been planted in his mind the day he met the dragon. It takes another three days for him to gather the courage to decide what to do. The courage comes from Uther finding out about the boy, it comes from knocking down the two guards that stride in behind the King to take him to the dungeons, it comes from lifting an unconscious Merlin into his arms. It comes from yelling at his father that he _will never ever return if you stand in my way now father, I mean it,_ while Gaius and Guinevere watch him with terror on their faces. Terror for him, for Merlin, for the consequences of his actions. But there is nothing he can do about that now. He carries Merlin to the stables, dumps him unceremoniously over the withers of his horse before riding out bareback.

‘The clearing Merlin,’ he says, face whipped by the cold wind as he rides into the night, ‘I need to find it, guide me there. Please.’ He doesn’t know if the boy can hear him, he doesn’t give a sign of life apart from breathing beneath his clenched fists. He knows the clearing is something, maybe not quite magical, but certainly hidden from people without the gift. He hopes Merlin being here, is all it needs for it to be revealed.

They ride all night and dawn is blooming in a mockery of every day bringing a new beginning, while Arthur feels everything is about to end, by the time he stumbles upon it quite by accident. He lowers Merlin down on the soft bed of moss, that brings memories so sharp they hurt. It feels unnaturally warm and is dotted with small white lily-like flowers that weren’t there before, but seem to heave a sigh of recognition when they touch Merlin’s skin.

‘Kilgharrah!’ Arthur yells. ‘Kilgharrah I need you. The time you spoke of has come, Merlin needs your help!’ He tries to remember the dragon’s exact words that had reverberated in his mind, the afternoon when Merlin had revealed who he truly is, but he finds he can’t. Just the gist is there, the idea that this is the moment, this is where he needs to be and the dragon is who he should call upon. The beating of heavy wings proves him right within a few minutes, and he feels giddy with relief.

‘Young Pendragon,’ the dragon tells him, sounding not at all surprised.

‘Merlin, he- you need to help him. Tell me what to do, I’ll do anything, I’ll-.’ The sudden weight of worry, of hovering near Merlin and watching him writhe with something that isn’t quite pain but comes very close, of defying his father, of not knowing if he has a Kingdom to return to, a home even, suddenly crashes down on him, and he claws at his own throat, choking on it all.

‘I told you your destinies were more entwined than even I knew,’ the dragon tells him and his voice is somehow soft and means to be soothing.

‘I don’t know what that _means_ ,’ Arthur tells him. ‘Please, just- help him.’

‘His magic is out of control, awakened by the devotion and deep connection he has with you. It was meant to happen over time, but obviously something,’ and if Arthur didn’t know any better, he’d swear the dragon was being facetious, ‘happened to speed up the process.’ However, whatever humour may have hidden in that statement vanishes as the dragon lowers his head. ‘He needs to be taken to Avalon.’

‘Ava- what? Isn’t that the place where you go when you die?’

‘No, Avalon used to be part of these lands. It is the heart of the Old Religion. It is now surrounded by mists impenetrable by any who do not have magic, and it continues to draw away from the real world as the belief in the Old Religion wanes. Soon it will be gone all together.’

‘And you want me to take Merlin there?’ Arthur wants to know, and if he sounds a bit derisive, there isn’t much he can do about it.

‘No, I will take him. There is no time for you to do it, he doesn’t have weeks to live and that is how long it would take you on horseback. The magic is consuming him from the inside and he will die, if he does not learn to harness it soon.’

‘Then I am coming with you.’

The dragon regards him for a long, drawn out timespan that could be seconds or hours, Arthur doesn’t know. He only knows there is no way he will let this beast fly off with Merlin, to some place that may or may not exist, really. ‘Very well, place the warlock in my hand.’

Arthur bends down and manages not to flinch when he feels Merlin’s burning skin on his own. He places the warlock into the outstretched paw, climbs onto Kilgharrah’s back and then heaves Merlin up in front of him. ‘Hold on tight,’ the dragon tells him, and Arthur bites back the retort as he presses Merlin close to his chest, his knees digging into dragon scales.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
‘This is it.’

‘But,’ Arthur splutters, his fingers frozen stiff from the biting wind and the clinging to Merlin, as he lowers himself off the dragon’s back. ‘There is nothing here but fog!’

‘I told you Avalon lies hidden in the mists now, Sire. Believe me, it is there.’

‘Right and I just-‘ he makes a vague wavy motion.

‘Yes, the Priestesses will reveal themselves for one as powerful as Merlin. After all, it is their prophets who spoke of him long before your bloodline was born.’

Arthur swallows, bends to pick up the still form that is Merlin, his eyelids fluttering, a soft moan on his lips when Arthur touches him. ‘Thank you,’ Arthur says to the dragon and turns toward the mist.

‘My Lord,’ the dragon says, and his voice is soft as if there might be something wrong, or will be and he doesn’t want to disturb the fragile peace while it lasts.

‘Yes?’

‘I will be here when you return.’

‘Good, good.’ To be honest Arthur hadn’t thought that far. ‘Excellent. Thank you.’ He shifts Merlin higher up in his arms and stumbles into the mist, feeling the magic tugging at the edges of his awareness.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
Arthur is well and truly lost. And he doubts he has gone further than fifty paces. There is absolutely nothing here, apart from fog swirling around him, teasing him, just out of reach, and the soft moss beneath his feet. His next step could very well take him right off the edge of a cliff and Arthur would only know when they hit the ground. And well, then it would be too late.

‘Arthur.’

The prince jumps, momentarily having forgotten this is Merlin he is carrying. ‘It’s all right Merlin, we’ll find our way.’

‘No.’ Merlin breathes and Arthur’s lungs squeeze together at the feeble sound of the word. ‘No, you have to turn back. This place-.’

‘You know it? Merlin? Have you been here before?’ But Merlin’s head has fallen back again, his body limp in Arthur’s arms.

‘His magic knows it, recognizes it. As a home, you might say, your Highness.’

Arthur nearly drops Merlin, when his head snaps up and he is faced with the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Her hair is long, reaching past her waist. It can’t quite seem to make up its mind whether it is black as night, or the color of autumn leaves. It appears to move in a non-existent breeze, at the same gentle pace of her robes. They are white and reach all the way down to the ground. The hood is pulled up, but not far enough to hide a face more exquisite than he has ever seen and he could imagine men riding into battle and dying for that face.

‘Oh they have, Prince,’ she tells him, effortlessly picking the thought from his mind, a small smile playing across a mouth perfect and full. ‘And they will, again.’

‘Who are you?’

She tilts her head a little, regarding him and it makes him feel as if she sees right through his soul. ‘My name is Viviane, I am the High Priestess of Avalon. The Merlin’s name has been written in many of our prophecies, his destiny is a full one. If he makes the right choices.’

‘He is sick,’ Arthur tell her, knowing his words are inadequate.

‘Yes. Yes he is.’

He has to look down then, on Merlin’s restless face, the long black eyelashes casting drawn out shadows on his skin. Skin that appears translucent in the unnatural light. He has to look away from her, because there is a kindness, a compassion in her voice he, for some reason, cannot bear. ‘Can you- cure him?’ he asks, for lack of a better word.

‘I can. But he will have to remain with me, in Avalon. Where you cannot pass.’

Arthur nods. ‘I will wait. I will wait for him, I don’t mind, I-‘

‘You cannot. Your Kingdom needs you Arthur Pendragon,’ and again the voice is a caress, a commiseration. ‘Now more than ever. You need to return and leave him here with me.’

‘Will you- look after him. I mean, is he safe?’

‘No harm will come to him here. I give you my word and the word of a High Priestess is not lightly given.’

‘Neither is mine.’ There is a flash of a King in his eyes then, a vengeful, dangerous King. ‘And I give you my word I will tear your mists apart with my bare hands if I have to, if you harm him.’

She looks at him thoughtfully, but he does not drop his gaze this time, until she nods. ‘Very well. A promise for a promise. A word for a word. He is safe.’

‘Good, I-.’ He swallows. ‘Good.’

‘Say your goodbyes Sire. You will not see him for a while.’ She retreats a little into the mists and Arthur kneels down, lowering Merlin onto the ground.

‘Merlin? Can you hear me? Merlin?’ For a moment he thinks he will have to leave him there, unconscious without a chance to explain, to tell him he will wait for him, he will look for him if he doesn’t return, to tell him he will be safe. But Merlin opens his eyes. ‘Arthur?’

‘I am here, Merlin. Always.’

‘Don’t leave me Arthur.’

‘I have to, you will die if I don’t. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.’ There are so many other things he wants to say, but Arthur has never been good at explaining his feelings, so instead he bends down, presses his mouth against Merlin’s, feeling the kiss returned. ‘I will miss you,’ he says, with a small smile, blinking hard against the burn behind his eyes. But Merlin has slipped away again.

‘It is time.’

The woman has returned, with the whitest stallion Arthur has ever seen, by her side. There is a litter tied behind it, and Arthur gently lifts Merlin onto it, covering him with the thick blanket. She nods at him once, mounts the enormous beast without effort and disappears into the mist.

Now that he knows what to search for, he can feel more than see the golden strands of Merlin’s magic swirl around him, in a soft embrace of warmth and familiarity, before that too disappears into the mists. He wonders then, why, when he turns around to return to the dragon, it feels like a farewell.

The air has that all-round energy of being too still in its silence, but Merlin shrugs it off, knowing that pondering it for too long might lead to conclusions he doesn’t want to reach. Sometimes it feels as if he is stuck in a spell, or a bubble, the whisper of wind too hollow, the sound of voices too echoing. Not that there are many voices to be heard. The young Priestesses lay down vows of silence for their training and those who are allowed to speak, keep their distance. The older ones might be happy to talk to him, he doesn’t know. He sees something in their eyes, a knowledge he has yet to gather and their quiet sorrow makes him stay away. The only one he talks to regularly is Lady Viviane, who has taught him how to harness the power, how to compress it into the ball of energy that is now contained and burns on a low pitch somewhere in the centre of his chest. He sometimes imagines it, funnily enough, to be a sleepy, curled up golden creature, purring to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. Before, it was untamed, wild and mad for life, now it is content to slumber, kept safe within him until he needs it.

‘It is time for you to climb the hill and look into the Pool Merlin.’

He turns around slowly, finally used to the High Priestess supposedly appearing out of nowhere. At first it had made him nervous, made him glance over his shoulder constantly, but not anymore. He sees it for what it is now, a small magical trick. He also learned how the ethereal beauty upon her person is a shimmer, an image used to demand authority. In reality she is rather small, her features almost elf-like, hair dark with even the beginnings of white near one temple. He doesn’t tell her, that he sees through it, he doesn’t tell her he sees through it all. The mists hiding the young girls’ quarters from his own, hiding the path to the ruins deep within a dark forest, the spells separating the island from the mainland. The only thing he can’t work out, is the stillness of this place and again he pushes the thought away, the creeping worry always touching the base of his neck. It doesn’t matter. The Pool is the final step, then he will be able to return to Camelot. To Arthur. The thought warms him in a way he didn’t realize he is a bit cold.

‘What will I see?’

‘That is for you to find out young warlock, the Pool only reveals its mysteries to those who need to know them. When you return, you will find your way back to the mainland. Camelot waits for you.’

A ghost of a frown touches her brow but she smooths it out with years of practice, years of knowing but unable or perhaps forbidden to expose all but hints and suggestions here and there, hoping it will lead the right person to the right path. ‘Will I see you again?’ he asks her.

She smiles then, and it is Viviane that smiles at him, not the High Priestess. Viviane who sat by his side when the magic had all but burnt out of him, leaving him hopeless and consumed with an ache for Arthur that was closer to pain than anything physical he ever felt. Viviane who had stroked his hair when he doubted it all, his destiny, his reason for existence, his strength and ability to wield this power for the good of the world. Viviane who now holds out her hands and he takes them, hers so small they disappear in his grasp completely.

‘Not in this lifetime Merlin.’

‘So I will never return?’

‘You will, but not for many many years. Not before your destiny has been fulfilled, not before all has come to an inevitable conclusion.’

‘You say that as if the conclusion won’t be a very good one?’

‘Who is to say, really, what is good or bad? The future holds many possibilities, but only one will come to pass, following the choices we all make. What will happen will happen, do not worry yourself about that now.’ She squeezes his hands once and lets go. He sees her gather the cloak of power around her, straightening her back, pulling herself up to her full height and the shimmer slots into place. ‘Go now, Merlin. Follow the path to the Pool. You’ll know what to do when you reach it. May the Old Religion strengthen your heart and mind in the times to come.’

For a brief flicker the composed mask of the High Priestess falters, and that scares Merlin much more than her words. Then she is gone. He has to shake his head and push the dread back, before he can bring his feet to move up the hill. The climb is longer than he thought it would be, and he starts to hurry, somehow knowing it is important to be by the Pool before the moon has risen to its zenith. It is the third full moon since he arrived here, it is somehow significant, he just doesn’t know why.

The Pool is a mirror of water reflecting the black sky with its pinpricks for stars and the white disk that is the moon. Merlin walks up to the river bank, and even though it is cold, he knows he needs to be undressed. Shivering already, he pulls his coat and shirt off, followed by his boots and breeches. He swallows, twice, before wading into the water. It is not as freezing as he expected, winter never seeming to have fully taken over the island, but it is cold enough to make him gasp sharply and still for a moment, before forcing his muscles to relax and walk on. When he is up to his waist in the black liquid, Merlin calms his breathing, closes his eyes and touches upon the golden core, slowly unfurling within him.

When he opens them again, -his eyes don’t turn golden anymore, they don’t have to- the image of the moon is blurred and rippling until it is replaced by a sudden waterfall of images that may have him cry out. He is not sure, but if he does, there is no one to hear it.

Past, present and all possible futures flood through him so fast he can’t make sense of it all, a swirl of people and places, sharp one moment but gone the next. He doesn’t know what any of it means, if he even wants to understand. A few flashes cling to the edges of his unravelling mind, all of people he recognizes. Arthur being crowned and Uther on his deathbed, he wonders when that will come to pass, but the moment is gone before the question has fully formed. Then there is flash of a woman in a golden dress and for a spine tingling moment he thinks it is Morgana but she too is gone before he can look closer. The images push and pull, flow melodically one moment and are a harsh current the next. There is not one future he sees, that does not break his heart.

It all ends with a sudden burst of bright light. Merlin remains unmoving in the water for a long time after it has returned to just reflecting the moon and not time itself. He stares into the water, those last images burned into his mind, possibly forever. The flames, the cave, the body and the madness. He is terrified. Not of how it will end, because of course it will end, everything does but of what he is willing to do for Arthur. For what he _can_ do for Arthur, bring the world and its people to their knees. Make the universe bend at the waist, bow before the greatest King that will ever walk the living world. He cries then, quiet but hot and bitter tears for the lives he will end, for the pain he will cause, for the blood that does not yet cling to his hands.

It is the clattering of his own teeth that brings him back to the here and now, that has him wade to the edge of the Pool and pull himself up. He wants to make a fire and dry up with magic but it feels like the wrong thing to do, somehow. So he looks around for his clothes, only to become aware that they are missing. In their stead there is a magnificent white horse waiting for him, on its flank two saddle bags bulging with what Merlin fervently hopes is something warm and wearable. He wraps his arms around his skinny frame, pale to the point of transparency in the moonlight, as he nears the horse.

‘What are you looking at?’ he demands when it follows his progress with a twinkling eye, and vaguely wonders if his tryst with a magical pool has finally caused him to take leave of his senses. But the horse just snorts softly when he places a hand on its nose and he starts to rummage into the bags. The clothes are all much better quality than any he has ever owned, woven of fabric and thread he is certain can’t be found on the mainland. He pulls out the most inconspicuous, leaving a thick purple dyed robe and a majestic black cloak with golden stitching in the bag, and dresses himself in a shirt, trousers, boots and leather jacket.

‘Are you to take me through the mists?’ he asks the horse, then snorts at himself before climbing onto its back. It is time. Time to return to Arthur. And he leaves, exhausted and a little distraught for reasons he can’t conceive. When the horse leads him through the fog and it parts for a forest that feels much more real than anything he has seen these past months, he hears a soft voice tell him, _I am sorry Merlin, for what you have lost_. He turns around, but Viviane is not there.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
He hears the snow crunch beneath the horse’s hooves before he sees it, but the cold is seeping into his bones much sooner. Of course. It is winter. He has no choice but to pull out the thick black cloak and drape it around his shivering shoulders. As the days pass and they ride and ride through landscape turned alien and beautiful underneath a blanket of white shimmering snow, Merlin starts to feel more and more like himself again, the visions already a thing of the past and maybe for now, to be forgotten. He keeps himself and the horse, who he has named Arion for reasons he can’t remember, safe at night with his magic, drawing them away from possible hunters or poachers, fires small but warm enough.

It takes maybe ten days of traveling before he meets the crossroads, where he needs to choose between Ealdor and Camelot. For a dreadful moment he feels something akin to panic, before he tells himself not to be ridiculous and he turns right. His essence burns with longing for Arthur, but an unknown pull draws him toward his mother, so that is where he goes. It isn’t until he spots the village from the top of the hill, that he starts to think something may have gone a little awry. The smithy has obviously burnt down some time ago, the collapsed roof covered in a thick layer of snow and icicles, but is being rebuilt next door. There are more houses than he remembers, in fact, there is half a street he knows was not there when he left here last. Odd, he thinks, before dismounting. He pulls the black cloak off his shoulders and stuffs it into the bag before regarding the horse as it regards him. Not for the first time he thinks there is more intelligence in those eyes than should rightfully be present.

‘Can you-‘ he wafts his hand up and down. ‘Tone it down a bit? You just about scream magical horse with all that mane and shininess.’ He feels beyond idiotic but his white breath hasn’t fully dissolved in the air, or the mane has thinned and the coat is more grey than white. ‘Eh,’ Merlin tells the horse. ‘Good. Very good. I- okay, let’s go.’

He takes Arion by the reins and walks down to this village that certainly looks like Ealdor, but isn’t quite it. Some people he doesn’t know at all. Some look familiar and they seem to think the same, because they give him a curious glance. Some, however, openly stare at him, mouths gaping and eyes wide. At first he waves, smiling a little uncertainly, but that lasts for about two minutes before he almost runs to his mother’s house, the cold penetrating his skin to form any icy sheath around his innards.

 

~ ~ ~

  
‘No. No this can’t be-.’

‘I’m sorry Merlin. I am so very sorry.’ His mother’s voice is soft, hoarse and weak as she strokes his hair where it falls against her chest. ‘But at least you are alive. You are alive Merlin, you are alive.’ She says it, repeats it as if it is a miracle.

‘Let me help you,’ his voice breaks pathetically on a sob but he doesn’t care. ‘My magic, I can do it. There is so much I can do now, mum you have no idea.’ He looks up then and there are tears clinging to her lashes as he knows there are to his own. She smiles and it breaks something inside him because he knows what she will say.

‘No Merlin,’ she holds his face between her hands and softly kisses his eyelids. ‘I am tired. I have lived a good life and I will die knowing you are all right.’

‘Talk to me. Tell me everything so I can take your voice with me and carry it everywhere I go.’

She pulls him down beside her, he wants to cling to her desperately, thinking he can physically keep her in this world, but is afraid to hurt her fragile fingers. She talks, whispers of the summers they spent together, just the two of them in the small house, by the lake, in the village or just in their own small garden. She speaks of Will and the stupid antics they got up to, of his magic and how it used to scare her but made her terribly proud too, because she knew he would use it with honor and do great things. And finally, _finally_ , she talks about his father, about how she loved him and how he loved her, so very much. All Merlin can do is sob _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my fault, I’m sorry_ over and over, and over again. Until Hunith makes him lift his face to hers and she looks him steadily in the eye and tells him Balinor died happier knowing his son so briefly than living until the end of time and never knowing him at all. And he tells her, before her eyes close, dark rimmed with lack of sleep and wasted illness, that he feels him, within him, part of the Dragon and part of him and she smiles.

‘Why,’ he asks her gently, because it is obvious this sickness has been consuming her for a very long time. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner mother, that you were sick.’

‘You were gone Merlin,’ she murmurs and he sits up, pulling the blankets around her.

‘But it must have started ages ago. Even then you could have sent for help to Camelot. Arthur would have helped, and Gaius.’ Her eyes open again and he suddenly sees Viviane standing before him and the way she said goodbye to him before he pulls himself back to the present with a shudder. ‘Merlin,’ she tries to sit up but he gently pushes her back down. ‘Oh Merlin. Gaius, Gaius is dead.’

The ice on the inside of him thickens as he dumbly shakes his head. ‘What? No! He can’t be, I-, how is this possible? What happened?’

‘He died shortly after you disappeared Merlin, he was an old man. He died right after Uther did.’

Merlin chokes. ‘Uther is dead too? That means- Arthur is _King_?’

‘Yes.’ She smiles again. ‘And a good King already. He is a good man. He loved- loves you very much. He came here to tell me- you were gone. He looked a broken man Merlin.’

‘But, how? I mean, all _this_ in just over three months? That is-.’

Hunith does sit up now, her eyes wide and moist in fever, trembling hands clawing at his shirt. ‘Three months? Merlin. You have been gone for three years.’

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
He has to dismount three times to vomit. As if the pain is forcefully trying to tear itself out of him, because it can’t stand its own presence. So much ripped away from him between dusk and dawn. His mother, who died in his arms in the morning, after he held her all night, at least with a peaceful look on her face. He could do that much for her, take the pain away. Gaius. Oh Gaius. _I should have been there_. His mentor, his friend, the father he never truly had. Uther, who he never loved but whose death would have devastated Arthur.

Arthur.

Arthur believing him dead. Arthur riding out to Ealdor to tell his mother. Arthur being a broken man. Arthur losing his father and becoming King. _I should have been there too_.

Arthur marrying Gwen. _I wish he had allowed me to die_. At least now, he knows who the woman with the golden dress is.

_I am sorry Merlin, for what you have lost._ The words echo through him and he can just think, _yeah, so am I,_ before he leans over, no time to jump off the horse, and wretches his empty soul out.

He considered not going back. Staying in Ealdor, keeping the village safe and his mother’s memory alive. It seems like a good enough goal in any life. He told his mother so, but she said it would be a cruel thing to allow Arthur to continue believing he was dead. And she told him his destiny lies not in a small village, but by the King’s side. He remembers the High Priestess’s words, _you can be great if you make the right decisions_. But he doesn’t want to be great. He wants the world to fold up around him until there is nothing left but a soothing emptiness, without pain, without having, knowing and then forever losing.

_You are more than this Merlin. You have made me so proud to be your mother and I know you will always continue to do so. Always_.

They are his mother’s last words before she falls into a sleep she will never wake up from. And that is why he is on his way to Camelot, a small, trembling boy who carries more misery on his shoulders than anyone should be able to lift.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
His knees are weak when he looks upon the castle from the hill, only two days later. He hasn't eaten anything since leaving Ealdor.

‘This is it,’ he tells Arion. ‘This is home.’ He can’t feel the coming of it and realizes his home always was where Arthur used to be. But Arthur is no longer his to come home to. Arion rubs his nose against Merlin’s arm once, making him stumble a little and he says, ‘Yeah, you are right.’

He draws the long purple robe out from the bags and pulls it on, leaving it hanging open over his clothes, before fastening the cloak over it and drawing himself up to his full height. This time he will not walk into Camelot as a servant boy, but as the warlock he has become. If Arthur will accept him into his court like this, he will give his council as he was always meant to do. If Arthur won’t- well then his life is not worth a thing anyway. Because even if he cannot have Arthur the way he used to - _the way he used to_ , as if it is really more than a few months ago-, at least he will stand behind him and his Queen to protect them both until the day he dies.

The town is busier than he remembers, the market buzzing with a hum of activity and even careful prosperity. Signs of magic can be seen, here and there, first confronting him in the form of an old woman, holding out her hand and asking if,

‘I could tell your fortune, sir? Show you what the future holds?’

He stares at her, a little dumbfounded and when she starts to frown, a hint of recognition in her weathered face, he steps away. Maybe the people of Camelot haven’t quite forgotten the servant boy that used to follow their prince around. Their King. ‘No, thank you.’ He has had enough of the future lately. Not that he is carrying money, anyway.

When he reaches the castle, seeing all flags raised, beating in the wind, he realizes the thrill in town is not just a daily event. There is some sort of festivity going on. He doesn’t know exactly what date it is, but it must be too late for Yuletide, so he approaches a man, claiming to sell pendants and jewels with magical gifts.

‘Something for protection, sir? Or to drive away the ache of winter? Maybe a token to attract a pretty lady?’ The man leers suggestively. Merlin only has to reach out with his mind for a second, before knowing these trinkets are as magical as Arthur’s big toe. He scowls, pushing the thought away.

He knows the man is only trying to make a living, but the idea of people being parted from their hard earned money for nothing but a polished piece of rock makes him angry. His eyes flash golden, he wants the man to see it, recognize him for what he is. ‘If you know what is good for you, charlatan, you will find something else to sell.’ The man’s eyes widen in fear.

‘Yes sir, of course sir.’ He bows and moves to pack his wares together, but Merlin grips his wrist and the vendor literally squeaks. So real sorcerers are still rare enough to bring forth such a reaction. ‘I will not harm you. Tell me, what is the occasion?’ He jerks his chin toward the raised flags as he lets go of the man’s arm.

‘Second year to the day since the King’s crowning sir,’ the man whispers, bowing at nearly every word. It makes Merlin’s scowl deepen. ‘Stop doing that.’

‘Yes sir.’ The man bows again anyway, Merlin sighs, and walks away. So Arthur has been King for two years. He wonders how long he has been married.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
It is strange to walk a path his feet touched only three months ago that has been deepened by comings and goings accounting for three years. The changes are small, but unmistakably there. He sees them in how the guards hold themselves just a little straighter, weapons and chins risen in honor rather than duty alone. He sees it in how the servants look him right in the eye and smile, instead of hurrying along, worried about being seen associating with a stranger. He feels it in the air, when he reaches out with his magic, how it murmurs almost contently. But he mostly knows it because there is no burn mark on the square anymore, no gallows, no block of wood, darkened by innocent blood.

He briefly considers announcing himself to the guards, but he doesn’t think he can deal with a grand entrance. So he cloaks himself, the way he witnessed the High Priestess do so many times when she wanted to move amongst her people unnoticed. Guards see him, and nod at him, and let him pass without a word, without a sign of alarm or recognition as if he belongs exactly where he is and has every right to go where he is going.

If his hand trembles a little when he pushes against the door to Gaius’s quarters, it comes as no surprise. What is a surprise however, is that everything has remained the way he left it, with a servant girl, dressed better than any he’d seen in his days (his days - oh no don’t think like that), dusting the surface of the books and vials on a table.

‘What are you doing here?’ he blurts out, not unkindly. He notes briefly how her eyes only widen in question and not in fear. ‘I am cleaning, sir. May I ask the same of you?’

‘I was- looking for an old friend,’ he improvises quickly. ‘I haven’t seen in him a long time. His name is Gaius.’

‘Oh sir,’ she tells him, putting down the cloth and folding her hands in front of her lap. ‘I am so sorry. Gaius passed away more than two years ago.’

‘I see,’ he swallows, the words still too bitter to hear them spoken aloud without leaving an aftertaste. ‘Is someone else living here, then?’

‘No sir. The King just likes to keep these rooms clean and the way they were. In memory.’

‘Right.’ The word comes out weaker than intended, and the girl’s eyes soften. ‘Was he a dear friend?’

‘Yes. Yes he was.’

‘Would you like some time alone here sir? I could come back later?’

‘That would be- nice. Thank you.’

She gives him a small curtsy, which startles him until he remembers the quality of his clothes, before she leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

He runs his fingers over all the things so familiar, the vials, the potions, now long expired, the books and the other strange things he never got around to asking what they were for. And he never will. He doesn’t understand how time that hasn’t passed for him still separates them but he can’t help wondering if he could have saved Gaius, if he had been here. Every single ornament in the room is so full of memories, things that seemed so unimportant at the time but that mean everything - _everything_ , now. When he reaches Gaius’s old bed, he can’t help but kneel beside it, stroke it, lean forward and rest his head against the pillow. It only smells of soap, all traces of the old man long gone. So even the sheets are washed regularly, as if he might return at any moment.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but when he rises, the cold from the tiles has stiffened his knees. Maybe it is that, that causes him to advance on his old room so slowly, or maybe it is something else entirely. He probably expected it, when he pushes open the door with a spine chilling creak, but it still hits him like a blow to the gut. Cobwebs, dust, moth eaten blankets and sheets, stale air and a collapsed bed, is all that is left. No one has entered this place to clean it, lovingly, to keep a memory alive. Yes, he did sort of expect it, but it stings none the less. He sees a pair of old boots, discarded in a corner where he left them three months or three years ago, a large hole chewed into one, probably by a hungry rat. A footstool beside them is covered by almost an inch of dust, small footprints indenting it at some point, to be almost erased by more dust accumulating on top.

He lifts the floorboard, his book of magic still hidden beneath it, knowing it no longer holds any secrets for him. He reaches for it anyway.

‘I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone touching your things.’

His hand freezes where it is, heartbeat desperately trying to pump his blood back from where it seems to have gathered in his limbs, filling his head with a hollow _thunk-thunk-thunk_. His vision blurs as he stands up slowly, mouth dry. ‘Arthur.’

He doesn’t know if it is him turning or the room spinning but suddenly the world doesn’t seem quite as steady as it ought to be. Arthur is standing at the bottom of the stairs, the picture of calm if only Merlin didn’t know him so well. But he does, so he sees the thinning line of his lips and the fists quickly unclenching by his side. Of all the things he wanted to say, what comes out of his mouth is, ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘The maid, I told her if anyone ever came looking for Gaius she had to tell me at once.’

And then he is moving, and so is Arthur, up the steps into the room and into each other’s arms, holding, pulling, grasping at cloaks and clothes. Murmuring _Merlin, Merlin, oh Arthur, I missed- you, I’m so-_ and almost, almost they kiss but reality sinks in.

‘We can’t.’

‘I know.’

They step apart after a long time that could never have been long enough.

Merlin looks at him, at all the changes that aren’t visible to anyone but Merlin.

‘Where have you been? All this time? Merlin, I-.’ Arthur quietens abruptly, looks away.

‘In Avalon. For me-, Arthur, look at me.’ He waits, until he does. ‘For me it has only been three months.’ Arthur frowns, not understanding. ‘Time passes differently there, apparently.’

‘Apparently,’ Arthur repeats and Merlin wants to reach out and smooth the V between his brows but he knows he can’t. He can see him closing down, pulling away and he can’t stand it. ‘Don’t!’ he says, with more force than he intended. ‘Not yet. Talk to me, please. If this is the only moment we have, then please. Don’t shut me out yet.’

Time seems to drag out like it might do in Avalon as he sees Arthur struggle. This is it, he thinks, he will push me away. But he doesn’t. ‘I waited,’ he says, finally. Merlin releases a breath. ‘You were gone for three years. Three years Merlin. Do you understand? Three _fucking_ years!’ Arthur’s voice grows louder with every word, his eyes suddenly maddeningly wide and he turns, angrily smashing his fist into the doorframe, making Merlin jump back a little and falter, when Arthur turns toward him. ‘I thought you were dead!’ he says, his eyes full of the sort of pain that is intolerable both for the bearer and the inflictor. ‘Fuck Merlin, _I thought you were dead_.’

He can’t stand to look into those eyes any longer and his gaze drops to the hand that collided with the wall. Welts of blood are swelling slowly as if they too are suspended in time. One drop falls to the floor and without thinking, Merlin murmurs something under his breath, his fingers fluttering more out of habit than need.

Arthur looks at his hand a bit taken aback and a reluctant smile curls around his mouth. ‘I forgot,’ he breathes, disbelieving. ‘I forgot this is what you-, why you-.’ His eyes leave the healed hand, travel over the tiled floor, to Merlin’s boots, his knees, his chest, his face and then Arthur’s own feet carry him closer of their own will. His arms fold around Merlin again and he feels the air leaving Arthur’s lungs as they form the words. ‘God Merlin. I thought you were dead.’

And now the words contain the pain that was held only by his eyes before, all anger gone from his voice and Merlin fists the fabric of Arthur’s tunic, pulling him close, holding him, squeezing him tight like he never wants to let go. The tunic is soft and thick beneath his hands and he kneads it, lets it run through his fingers, pushes them into Arthur’s back. The tunic smells of Arthur and Merlin can’t even begin to grasp what it must have been like. Three years. Three years of believing-, of worrying-, of feeling-, of giving up.

And now he is married to Guinevere. Merlin’s head lifts from the dip in the shoulder where it fits so perfectly. His eyes fix on the torn, dust-heavy curtains by the window, unblinking until his sight goes blurry. Then they close, the dryness stinging multi-colored sparkles behind his lids, while his hands come up, to rest upon Arthur’s shoulders. His arms are heavy, because he doesn’t want to do this. Every nerve in his body hums, his magic squirms in protest at the thought, but he has no choice. He steels himself, swallows hard, and pushes the prince-, no, the King away from him.

‘You are married now,’ he tells Arthur, who frowns, gently pushing against Merlin’s restraint, wanting to fold into the warmth and comfort of the hug again.

‘You are married now,’ Merlin repeats and he sees it in those blue eyes. He sees the pain return, together with the understanding, melding until suddenly there is nothing. Arthur has snapped himself out of the moment, as Merlin knew he would, the way he always could, when duty was to be held before personal want. Or need. No matter how great. Merlin imagines it feels a little like dying. But no, he doesn't need to imagine.

‘You are right. We can’t-. Not anymore.’ For a brief moment the pained look returns. ‘I waited-,’ Arthur tells him, so quietly Merlin can’t be sure that is what he heard. Arthur shakes his head, squeezes Merlin’s shoulder once, and leaves the room. He knows then, that it was not the time in Avalon that was borrowed, but his time with Arthur. He knows they had been living in a bubble of existence held suspended, stretched around them, fraught and tightening until it snapped.

And if Arthur is the sun then Merlin is the sky against which he can shine, today and through the stretch of time until the sun, like all else, must burn out and in consequence the sky must darken, for one cannot be without the other.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
It is almost laughable, the ease with which he slips into his roll. Arthur offers him more luxurious quarters, of course, but he wants to be where Gaius spent his life, where he feels most at home. He has a bigger and better bed made, and if his old room appears a little larger on the inside, no one seems to notice.

Guinevere embraces him with warmth and genuine tears, but he understands the well hidden wariness in her eyes. She must have known, and when they eventually talk about it, sitting on a hill overlooking the castle, waiting for Arthur and his knights to return from a rare hunt, the conversation is painful, almost as painful as every single minute he spends in Arthur’s shadow.

‘You have no idea Merlin. How he was. I-. I thought- if he can’t be with who he wants, at least it should be someone who loves him deeply. And I have, I always have. He deserves to be loved. He needs it. But it is you he wants. And I thought I could live with that because I thought you were dead. We all did. But now you are back and I see the way he looks at you, the way he has never looked at me and- it hurts.’

‘Gwen you can’t-, I’ll leave,’ he tells her, knowing what that would do to him, pressing on anyway. ‘I’ll go somewhere, anywhere. You can’t leave him. It’ll destroy him, he does love you.’

‘I know. But if you leave again… it will do much worse to him. And I don’t know if I can stand it.’

Sometimes, very seldom, he can see the strain it puts on Arthur. When he stands a little too close, pouring over a map, when he reaches for a goblet and their arms touch, when their eyes lock during an unguarded moment where he knows the want is naked in his eyes. He can see it then, burning in Arthur’s own and he waits for it. He even craves it, the anger, the shouting, the accusations of betrayal. But it doesn’t come. It never comes and every day feels like something shrivels up on the inside of him. But he hangs on, because if he lets go of this, there is nothing left.

Merlin still knows some of the knights that gather at the Round Table. To his immense pleasure, he finds Lancelot there, who holds him in an embrace so tight Leon tells them he’s sure there is an empty room _somewhere_ around here, only to push Lancelot aside and hug Merlin even longer. Gwaine thumps him repeatedly on the shoulder, forcing him to drink so much wine he seems to be out of his senses within minutes. Which is clearly ridiculous until Percival shakes his hand, too choked up to say anything at all and Merlin has to blink his eyes open wide to stop the moisture collecting there from falling, so maybe yes, yes he is drunk already.

Weeks have drifted into months of carefully making sure they are never alone together, but when it matters, Merlin is always there. And he finally relaxes muscles in his shoulders he didn’t realize were tense when Arthur tells him, ‘So they fixed your brain as well as your magic then, did they?’ with a huge grin, as he looks over his shoulder, when Merlin suggests they should just go and talk to the Northern Kingdom instead of barging in with swords first, peace talks later.

It isn’t always that easy. Merlin has a chance to surprise even himself when he calls upon a storm that drags an army of hundreds of barbarians coming from a fierce Northern country back out to the sea. They call themselves Vikings, staining the sands red with the blood of the women and children they capture and sacrifice to their Gods. It takes Arthur about three hours to overcome his awe of Merlin’s power, which he spends glancing over his shoulder to the warlock on the white horse, that is never in the stables but always there when Merlin wants to go anywhere.

‘Haven’t changed all that much have you, Merlin,’ Arthur tells him eventually, eyes narrowed. Merlin glares at him suspiciously, not at all liking the way Arthur has been looking at him since he called upon the clouds and the wind without even catching his breath.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, you always used to do things either half arsed or completely over the top and by the looks of those clouds so stubbornly following you, it is going to rain for a century. Make it stop will you?’

Merlin lifts an eyebrow. ‘Of course Sire. _Clearly_ I am going to mess with the elements just because His Royal Highness doesn’t want to get his hair wet.’

Arthur grins. ‘Good.’

‘What?’

‘I wondered where the impertinent Merlin had disappeared to.’

_You know where he’s disappeared to_ , Merlin wants to say, but he doesn’t. It has been far too long since he has seen Arthur smile at him like that, eyes crinkling and face open. As if to prove the point, Arthur lets go of his reins and stretches his arms and his back and his vocal cords too by the sound of it. ‘God, I miss this,’ he sighs.

‘Yeah, only you would miss riding back from a bloody battle.’

‘That’s not what I meant, _Merlin_. Besides, thanks to you there wasn’t much blood, or battle. No, what I mean is _this_ , being away from-‘ he falters a moment and quickly rectifies himself. But it is too late, Merlin knows he wants to say, away from Camelot and therefor Guinevere. ‘From those stuffy councils and endless papers. I miss the days I could go hunting, or spend outside training my men.’

‘Bashing me about, you mean,’ Merlin mumbles, savoring Arthur’s grin.

Things are a little better after that and Merlin doesn’t feel like the nerve endings might burst out of his skin every time he stands just behind Arthur during council. Word of the one true King with the sword that sings, of his Sorcerer defeating barbarians before they even land, travels far and wide. Smaller alliances are being forged without violence, some Kings even coming forth to pledge their swords and armies to King Arthur without being asked.

When Merlin finds the courage to ask where Arthur found Excalibur, he tells him the dragon showed up three days after his father died and took him to a rock, which he pulled the sword out of without ceremony.

‘He told me the sword was meant to come to me three times and that this is the third time. When it is taken from me now, it will be lost forever. Whatever that means.’

It is shortly after this, back in Camelot, that they come as close to talking about it as they ever will. Arthur is in the council chambers, alone, when Merlin barges in, not expecting anyone to be there. ‘Oh. Hi.’

‘Merlin.’

He doesn’t want to think about it, all the different meanings he could distill from the way he pronounces those two syllables. But Arthur rubs his eyes and he suddenly looks so tired and a little sad, all Merlin wants to do is hug him and hold him and never let go. So he places his hands on the back of a chair and grips it hard enough to turn his knuckles white, rooting himself in place. All of a sudden, he doesn’t want to be here.

‘It’s not as if we thought it could last forever.’ Arthur tells him suddenly, as if he too, is done with fighting. The plea in Arthur’s eyes, Merlin doesn’t think he can stand it. ‘I never- really, thought about that at all. It is - was, just there and all-consuming and I couldn’t think further than the next moment I could be with you.’ All the words Merlin never meant to say.

‘And then you left.’

‘It’s not like I wanted to, you-.’ He scrunches his eyes shut, knowing he allowed the anger to trickle through in his voice. ‘It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I will leave, if you want me to.’ He can protect Arthur without being seen, hell he could even enter this court as an advisor and no one would ever know it was him.

‘Is that what you want?’ Arthur asks him quietly.

‘No. But I don’t want to cause anymore grief.’

‘Where would you go? Back to - that place?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, she told me I would return but not for a very long time. I don’t know where I would go. Maybe back to Ealdor. To-.’ He sighs, knows he is babbling, knows he just wants Arthur to think he can leave while he really, really can’t.

‘Yes of course. Your mother.’ Merlin wants to say something but he chokes on the words and Arthur finally looks at him. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Merlin, what?’

‘She’s gone. I went there, on my way back from Avalon. Before I knew so much time had passed. Back when time was something I thought I had. She died in my arms.’

Arthur swallows, he can see the Adam’s apple bob up and down and he has to look away. ‘I’m sorry. Really, I am.’

‘I know.’

‘You can stay. I mean, I don’t- want you to go. Please don’t go.’

Merlin flees from the room and stays away for days. He rides out to the old meadow, to find it covered with dark moss and Lilies of the Valley. Kilgharrah appears almost immediately, almost as if he has been waiting.

‘Did you know?’

‘Good to see you too, old friend. You look well.’

‘Sorry. Good to see you Kilgharrah.’ The dragon’s expression softens. ‘Yes. I knew time passes differently in Avalon. I did not know you would be gone this long however. Or that Arthur defying his father when he took you there would be the trigger to Uther’s illness.’

‘Oh no.’ Merlin breathes hard and closes his eyes.

‘Yes. Another burden for the young King to bear. But things could not have gone differently Merlin. Not after you sealed your bond with the prince. You could not be allowed to die. Your magic was overwhelming you, consuming you in return for what you took.’

‘Arthur and I, it is- was more than just our destiny pulling us together.’

‘No Merlin, it wasn’t. I am sorry.’

‘I don’t believe you. I-,’ he never voiced it before but he has to, at least once, to _someone_ if it can’t be Arthur. ‘I love him because I am me, Merlin the human being, not Merlin the sorcerer. And Arthur love- loved me because he is Arthur, not the King. It wasn’t because of this supposed fucked up out of control destiny. It was us, just us. I will not accept it was something we had no hand in, something that wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t two perfectly ordinary people in some other unimportant corner of the world.’

‘Arthur and you can never be anything less or anything more than you are now. That is very important Merlin.’

‘But I am tired. Tired of fighting it, tired of watching him, being with him and not, at the same time. And I know he feels it too, I see it when he thinks I can’t tell he is watching me.’

‘There must be an heir Merlin. If you stop that from happening, you should have stayed with Viviane.’

‘What? Why would I-?’

The dragon gently laughs. ‘Oh Merlin, don’t tell me you didn’t know?’

‘What?’ he repeats, his voice a little higher than usual.

‘Merlin. When Viviane said you could be great if you only made the right decisions, she didn’t just mean in this world. She offered you the place by her side, to rule Avalon. As her consort.’

‘Wh-‘

‘Please don’t say _what_ again Merlin, it makes you sound reminiscently stupid. Just think about it.’

And he does. He remembers her cool hands on his brow when the fever broke. The way she had bathed his exhausted body in a way that made him flush and her laugh. He remembers how she was always there, by his side when he least wanted to be alone. Her voice, her eyes, and yes, now that he thinks about it, the silent invitations to her bed he never acknowledged. But it makes no difference. Even if he had known, he would still have returned to Arthur. And that, lifts another weight from his shoulders. Even if he had known all he knows now, everything, he would still return to Arthur. He will always return to Arthur.

‘You cannot have him Merlin,’ Kilgharrah says, and his voice is gentle, understanding like maybe only another soul who has nothing to look forward to, but a future of undeniable loneliness, can.

‘No.’ Merlin tells him. ‘It doesn’t matter. He will always have me.

Everything goes a little pear shaped when months and months pass and Guinevere remains slim and childless. She comes to him, late at night, quietly pleading, but he tells her there is nothing he can do, reminds her of the price Uther paid for having Nimueh grant his wish. She leaves with an accusation in her eyes she is too nice to voice, with the words that she would gladly die to give Arthur what he wants, it would be better than living this empty life. He reminds her someone would die, but it may as well be Arthur and he cannot take that risk. Only later, when he is alone by the fire does he understand, he as much as told her he would have done what she asked, if he knew for certain it was only her life on the line. Merlin is sick for days.

Arthur comes to see him, when the fever and the vomiting finally ceased, but he is still weak on his legs. ‘She asked for your magic to help didn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘That I would be risking your life in the process and I can’t do that. Besides, it is early. It might still- happen.’

‘I want you to take the risk.’

‘No.’

‘Merlin, I am your King and you are not a servant dismissing an order to muck out the stables. This is for the Kingdom, a risk we have to take.’

‘No. I will not do it.’

‘ _Merlin_.’ Arthur grits his teeth and his voice is thin, charged with thinly veiled warning.

‘Arthur, it will not happen by my hand. And if you search for an other sorcerer, I will prevent them from even using their powers anywhere near you.’

‘You can do that?’

‘There is none more powerful.’ He doesn’t boast, just states a fact.

‘So you defy me in this.’

‘Yes.’

It happens very fast then. One moment Merlin is shuffling from his bedroom to heat some water for tea, the next Arthur is grabbing him by the collar. ‘Do you value your life?’ he hisses. His voice is husky, deep with need that has been sweltering beneath the surface for so long, so very long now and Merlin knows all he would have to do is touch him. All it would take to crumble the careful barrier they have drawn around themselves, is a single finger tracing his jawline. Which is why he doesn’t.

Arthur presses Merlin hard against the wall, who lets him, limply. ‘You know that blade will never have the chance to draw blood from my neck Arthur,’ he says, his voice soft.

‘I know you would never use your magic against me. I know you would rather die than betray me like that.’ The throaty sound is still there but there is a malicious glint in his eyes, as if he enjoys knowing this. As if knowing Merlin is so much more powerful than Arthur, but is paralyzed by the bond they share. He presses the blade closer as if to prove he isn’t.

‘If my death is what you want, my King,’ Merlin whispers, and he sees a flash of vulnerability in Arthur’s eyes at the use of the title. ‘Than I will oblige, but not by your hand. I wouldn’t allow you to live with that.’

‘Merlin.’ A grimace pulls at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He drops the knife to the ground and his head in the dip of the warlock’s shoulder. ‘Merlin. I- Oh God.’ He fists the front of Merlin’s robes, pulling, pulling until a dry sob chokes out of his mouth before looking up, a heartbreaking nakedness in his blue eyes. He shoves at him roughly and stalks away, door banging in his wake.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
‘I’m sorry.’

Merlin is sitting at the table he used to share with Gaius, fingers cradling a mug of tea he finally managed to make when his hands stopped shaking.

‘It’s fine.’

‘No it isn’t.’

Arthur steps into the room but remains close to the door.

‘I failed you.’ Merlin tells him, watching the bits of tea floating to the surface.

‘No.’

‘But you are in pain Arthur and there is nothing I can do to help you.’

‘No. But don’t you see? We were foolish and young to think something so substantial could revolve around us. This was never about us to begin with,’ he says and he allows the hurt in his voice this time, wants Merlin to hear it, which is why Merlin can’t look at him. ‘It is about Albion, and freedom and peace in the lands. It is about the people. And this, is our sacrifice.’

‘But I don’t want to make it,’ he whispers, knowing he sounds pathetic, but not being able to help himself anyway. ‘I don’t want to give this up.’

‘It wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice if we did, now would it?’

When the door falls into the lock again, Merlin allows himself to look up. How much more do they have to sacrifice? How much more? When will it ever be enough? And in the end, will it have been worth it? His tea is cold by the time he sips it.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
Arthur finds Lancelot and Guinevere locked in a kiss quite by accident. Lord something or other from the North wanted to see some sort of new weapon they were developing and even though it was late and they had a little too much wine to be completely steady on their feet, Arthur took him to the armory anyway.

On their way there, they see Lancelot holding Guinevere close in a manner that can’t be mistaken for anything but an embrace, no matter how drunk they are and the Lord hisses _treason_. If Arthur had been alone, - well who knows. But he isn’t. So he has no choice but to order guards to take Lancelot to the dungeons and drag Guinevere to his room by her elbow.

Once there, he has no idea what to say, so she speaks first.

‘You betrayed me too you know,’ she tells him even though she knows it is the wrong thing to say, his eyes starting to burn with anger. She finishes anyway. ‘You were with me but wanted Merlin.’

‘But at least I managed to control myself,’ he hisses at her. ‘At least I didn’t allow myself to be _groped_ in the middle of the hallway like a common _whore_!’ He shouts the last words and she visibly flinches, it only makes him angrier. ‘Oh for fuck sake Gwen! I am not going to hit you!’

‘You never loved me,’ she tells him.

‘I have loved you Gwen. But that changes nothing.’

‘You loved Merlin more, you have never looked at me the way you look at him. And it slowly destroyed me Arthur. Do you have any idea how much it hurts, to spend every day knowing you’re not quite wanted? Not quite good enough? Knowing your hands are on me but you feel Merlin? Seeing that disappointment day after day after day?’

‘Yes Guinevere, I can imagine it quite clearly. But it makes no difference. You betrayed me, committed treason. Caused one of my most trusted knights to turn against me.’

‘Lancelot hasn’t turned against you Arthur; he would still die for you in battle.’

‘We’ll never find out now, will we. Go to your rooms Gwen, you’ll remain locked up there until morning. I need to think.’

‘If Lancelot is to spend the night in the dungeons, then so shall I,’ she tells him, chin lifted in defiance. She regrets it immediately when she sees the blinding pain in his eyes but it is quickly replaced by something hard and unsightly.

‘To your chambers.’ His voice is cold and quiet. ‘Now. Unless you want to be dragged there by my guards.’ She leaves, he looks at her retreating back one last time, maybe even considers calling her back, because he knows life hasn’t been kind to her either, but he can’t. His eyes are on the flickering fire, hands resting against the wooden beam above the fireplace. He stands motionless for a long time, before grabbing a candle holder and hurtling it with a desperate cry toward the wall.

‘Arthur.’

He twists around to see Merlin standing in the entrance to his quarters, grits his teeth and walks to the window. Merlin steps inside, closing the door quietly.

‘Arthur I am so s-.’

‘Did you know?’

‘What?’

‘Did you know, Merlin,’ Arthur turns around slowly, facing the sorcerer who still looks so deceptively boyish with his fluffy hair, wide blue eyes and arms hanging limply to his side. ‘Did you know my wife is fucking one of my knights?’

‘No Arthur, I didn’t. I just saw your guard with Lancelot and-’ He steps forward, one arm raising out of its own accord, reaching but Arthur is already bearing down on him. ‘Go on then, get on the bed,’ he snarls, ripping at Merlin’s chest in an attempt to tear of the shirt.

‘What?’ Merlin demands, his eyes wide in shocked incomprehension.

‘Isn’t that why you are here Merlin? Now that Guinevere is out of the way? Isn’t that what you want?’ He shoves, hard and Merlin stumbles, the back of his knees hitting the bed.

‘What? No! Shit Arthur, what the _hell_?’ He pushes back, but it only seems to fire the madness in Arthur’s eyes. He grips Merlin’s shoulders and pushes him onto the bed, climbing over him as soon as he hits the covers. ‘Come on Merlin, you want to be fucked don’t you? Don’t think I don’t know how you have been pining after me, all this time. Standing behind me, wanting me, watching me, thinking of me when you are alone. Aren’t you Merlin? Fucking someone else with your eyes closed wanting it to be me.’

Merlin bats Arthur’s hands away, again and again as they reach for his clothes and he tries, so hard, not to let it show, how much those words hurt him. ‘No Arthur, don’t just- don’t. Get off me.’

‘Or what? What are you going to do Merlin? We both know you won’t use your magic against me.’ Arthur presses a hard kiss against his lips, bruising them so hard a metallic taste fills Merlin’s mouth. Arthur drops further down, aligning their bodies and Merlin’s cheeks flush in an ugly combination of anger and humiliation when Arthur’s hand slides against him and he feels himself harden instantly.

‘See?’ Arthur sneers. ‘That is why you are here Merlin.’

‘Fuck off!’ he yells, frantically trying to push Arthur away but he is too strong, years and years of training turning him into even more wiry muscle than he used to be. Arthur laughs at the attempt and the sound is truly lacking of any warmth. ‘You want this Merlin, admit it.’ Arthur bends down again, reaching for another kiss but Merlin can’t stand it, he just can’t. He knows where this comes from, he knows it is the hurt and the disappointment of Gwen’s betrayal and the years - god the years - that are stretched between them like a black abyss that can’t be closed. It isn’t really him Arthur is angry at, but it stings all the same. When Arthur’s fingers find the soft skin above his hipbone and with a jolt he remembers all those sweet afternoons and nights they clung together, he does what he never expected to do. He hisses a breath between his lips and Arthur is thrown off him, landing in a heap on the floor. Merlin scrambles off the bed and to his feet, erection painfully hard and equally embarrassing.

‘I didn’t come here for that Arthur. I came here to ask you if you wanted me to help Guinevere escape from Camelot tonight. To spare you the trial. You know where to find me when you’ve come to your senses.’

Arthur stares at the empty space that had occupied a cold and hurt Merlin only moments ago, before curling up onto the chilling tiles, weeping sobs that aren’t any less heartbroken in their silence.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
Arthur doesn’t come to him that night, but Merlin helps Guinevere escape anyway. She refuses to leave without Lancelot, so he frees him too. Tells them to leave Camelot and never return. Tells them to be happy, so at least someone can be, in this messed up existence. And if that means facing trial for treason himself the next morning, then so be it.

It would mean Arthur is more like Uther than he ever could have believed and then Merlin doesn’t want to be in this world anymore. He wouldn’t use his magic to save himself, because what would be the point of being saved when Arthur is lost.

There are no alarm bells the next day, no guards at his door but no Arthur either.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
The Vikings return that early spring, in full force, this time bringing a sorcerer of their own. News of burning coastal villages reaches Camelot late, since winter lingers longer inland than it does by the sea. So Merlin flies ahead on Kilgharrah’s back despite Arthur’s protests, his rages, his private plea in Merlin’s room, the first time they are alone since the night Guinevere left. He allows the words to wash over him, calls the dragon in the middle of the night anyway and leaves. He kills the sorcerer but not before the man manages to hit him with a bolt of fire that will leave a burn mark on his thigh he can’t will away. He does not kill him before the man deals a blow to Kilgharrah from which the dragon will not recover.

Arthur entrusts his army to deal with the left over barbarians raiding the coast, after Merlin killed almost all of them in a burst of fury that will leave the people terrified of him for the rest of Merlin's existence. Arthur finds him with the dragon in the meadow. Dark moss, one thriving crab apple tree and lilies are still prevalent over any other kind of growth. He watches them, from the edge of the circle and his lungs burn when Merlin finally bends down, huddles against the beast’s snout as its eyes close, never to open again. Merlin’s shoulders lurch as if his loss is far greater than the death of the last dragon.

Arthur waits while the sun sinks behind the trees, waits while the moon starts its climb, until the stars flicker into existence one by one and the jerks of Merlin’s body have turned into small shivers. Only then does he move, removing his own cloak and hanging it over that slender back.

‘Before he died,’ Merlin tells him, not in the least surprised at the soft touch, ‘he told me a destiny is what we make of it. Prophecies are written and rewritten sometimes centuries before its catalysts are even born. But they are never a certainty. A disease, early death, even time itself can interfere. He wondered if he made a mistake in driving us together while we were still so young. If we had been kept separated for longer, our bond might have been that of King and sorcerer, nothing more.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That not even an army of dragons could have kept us apart.’ Merlin looks up then, from his kneeling position, a ghost of a smile on his grief stricken face and Arthur sinks down beside him. He places a hand on the dragon’s nose and mourns him all night, with Merlin by his side. When the sun rises again, Merlin struggles stiffly to his feet, pulling Arthur up in turn. Without a word he raises his arms, eyes closed and head tilted toward the sky. From the ground, a heavy mist starts to curl and climb along the dragon’s body, thick with the scent of the small flowers surrounding them. For the longest time, Arthur can still see the shape of it and then he blinks, and Kilgharrah is gone, the meadow nothing but green and yellow from the sunrise, dewdrops clinging to the distant trees.

‘I hope you find peace again my friend,’ Merlin whispers. ‘Say hello to Balinor for me.’ Arthur squeezes his shoulder, when a single tear clings to his eyelashes.

‘Where did he go?’ he wants to ask, but realizes he doesn’t really want to know. Instead he looks at Merlin, pale and hollow eyed, and asks-

‘Home?’

Merlin nods and Arthur wants to pull him into his arms because Merlin looks like he carries the weight of a million losses, but he remains where he is.

‘Home.’

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
‘Merlin?’

‘I’m here,’ Merlin tries to swallow, his throat feels like it is on fire and when he coughs he can almost see the smoke coming out of his lungs. He waves a cursory hand and the gritty cloud of sparks and fumes dissipates enough for him to see Arthur squinting at him, a scarf tied in front of his mouth.

‘I think we’ve won,’ Arthur pants lightly, pulling the scarf down with one hand, the other casually leaning on his sword. There is a small gash on his cheek and he blinks when he feels it close beneath Merlin’s gaze. ‘I think so too,’ Merlin says, taking his eyes off Arthur’s face as soon as the cut is gone. The stench of a battlefield still makes his stomach twist violently and for once he wishes Arthur was more like Uther, and remained on the sidelines. But Arthur goes where his men do, and Merlin follows. He watches Arthur signal a mounted Sir Leon, who gathers the other knights on horseback to drive away or kill the remaining enemies. Battles are thankfully few and far between now, but every once in a while someone feels the need to test Camelot’s strength.

‘Next time you should remain back,’ Arthur tells him, wiping a combination of sweat, soot and blood off his cheek and by the look of pity on his face, Merlin can tell his own has turned that unappealing shade of green again.

‘You’d be worm food by now if I did, you know that.’

‘Merlin,’ Arthur begins, maybe wanting to say something starting with _I am perfectly capable of -_ but he doesn’t. Instead he blurts out, ‘Dine with me tonight.’

‘What?’ Merlin coughs and it might be the smoke but it might also be a little hidden laugh.

‘I just- we haven’t,’ Arthur’s chin sets and for a mad second he looks like a young stubborn prince again, accustomed to getting his way and resenting having to explain himself. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

‘Wha-? I, you- I’m always around!’ Merlin splutters. ‘Besides, can we not talk food when the ground is littered with entrails? I would like to be able to eat again at _some_ point and enjoy it.’ He attempts to put a little lightness behind his words, but the pull of his mouth and the color of his skin betray his queasiness.

‘You’re not made for this Merlin. It shouldn’t be you.’ Arthur turns around when Percival shows up with his horse and he mounts up. Just like that, Arion appears by Merlin’s side and it goes to show how much things have changed that the only reaction it provokes is a ‘Need a leg up?’ from Percival. Merlin shakes his head, his eyes on Arthur’s back, unsure what to make of his last words.

By the time Arthur manages to extract himself from the war council, from the endless discussions of; should-they-shouldn’t-they ride after the offending Lord to teach him a lesson on his own ground, from counting the dead and wounded, Merlin has slipped out of the tent. He is watching the encampment underneath the cover of a group of trees, their shadows keeping him hidden from the light of the moon. Merlin almost calls out to Arthur, when he sees him appear from the tent and look around as if he is searching for something.

It has been months now, since Guinevere fled with Lancelot. Merlin knows the attacks on Camelot will increase if Arthur does not marry again, if he does not produce an heir. He can almost hear the dragon’s voice and considering how much his riddles had annoyed him when he was younger, he never thought he would ever miss it. But he does, thinks of him often, and of all the others he has lost. His father, his mother, Freya (oh how things might have been different if he had been allowed to love her instead), Gaius, Kilgharrah, and even Morgana. He should have dealt with her differently and maybe he would have an ally in her, instead of an enemy he has yet to face.

They are so close to uniting all of Albion now, so close to bringing about their destiny, that it almost seems worth it. So if he can convince Arthur to take another wife, his role will be fulfilled and maybe then he can return to Avalon. It is strange to long for that place, it had seemed so foreign at the time, but it was peaceful in a numbing way and if Merlin has learnt anything, it would be all about feeling numb.

Arthur steps back into his tent, and even from where he is standing, Merlin can see the small frown on his face. He sighs softly, puts his hand on Arion’s neck before climbing on his back and telling him, _home my friend_.

By now, Arthur is used to Merlin disappearing.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
Merlin just about jumps out of his skin when the page boy charges into his chambers. ‘What on _earth_ is going on?’ he demands, his annoyance quickly turning to dread when he sees the look on the breathless boy’s face.

‘Sir Leon sent me ahead, my Lord,’ he squeaks and Merlin tries not to flinch at the title. ‘The King was injured and they told me to warn you to be ready.’ Merlin scrambles to his feet and is almost out of the door when the boy shouts after him. ‘No my Lord, they told me to ask you to stay here, they aren’t far behind. The King isn’t badly wounded, just in a lot of pain.’

‘Right,’ Merlin tells him, turning around again. ‘Help me clear my bench.’ Together they quickly move the books and vials from the table and Merlin stuffs the piece of paper he was writing on in a corner of a bookshelf. The boy opens the door when they hear a scuffle outside and then Arthur is stumbling through it, one arm slung over Percival’s shoulder, one hand pressed against a broken arrow right above his heart, Sir Leon following close behind.

‘Oh God,’ Merlin wheezes and watches Arthur wave the others out of the room. ‘Ohgodohgod,’ he repeats, his voice high and eyes wide. ‘I should never have left, how could I have been so stupid, shit. Shitohshit.’ His breathing starts to increase to an alarming rate and he has to hold on to the bench Arthur is leaning against.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur hisses, grinding his teeth together. ‘Do you think you can remove the arrow _before_ having a panic attack? I’d wait for you to stop being such a _girl_ but this bloody hurts.’

‘Weren’t you wearing your sheath Arthur? What were you _thinking_? Kilgharrah gave that to you for a reason!’ He advances on Arthur, taking a couple of shaky breaths before gently probing the area around the arrow, making Arthur wince. ‘It was the middle of the night, I only stepped outside for a minute because I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be shot at.’

‘You should _always_ expect to be shot at Arthur, you are the _King_!’

‘Yeah well, if you-‘ Arthur begins angrily but Merlin’s eyes widen even further, the blue a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin and he starts to breath thinly again. ‘If you could just pull it out now,’ Arthur says instead of whatever it is he is thinking. ‘That would be rather helpful.’

‘All right. This is still going to hurt, even with magic.’

‘Just get on with it Merlin, you look like you might pass out any minute and I don’t want to have to wait for you to wake up with this arrow still in my shoulder.’

‘Right.’ Merlin swallows, and closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. When he opens them again they are no longer wide with panic and his hands are steady as he carefully cuts away the shirt from the wound. He lets his magic flow around the arrow and into wound where it stops the bleeding as he pulls. Arthur gives a little gasp at the touch, but it doesn’t seem to be one of pain. With another softly spoken word, the skin is knitting together and there is no sign of there ever being an arrow in the first place, if it wasn’t for Merlin’s bloodied hands holding it. Arthur takes it from him and goes to throw it away when his gaze drops to the hastily and badly hidden away piece of paper.

‘What’s this?’ he wants to know.

‘Oh that’s, that’s nothing.’

But Arthur grins because Merlin really is the worst liar and he grabs it, flattening it out against the bench. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Right.’

‘Arthur I-,’ Merlin blushes, not knowing what to say.

‘No,’ the King clears his throat suddenly looking years younger. ‘No I understand. I mean, I should have thought about this much sooner.’ His eyes flicker back to the paper, filled with a list of the Kingdom’s unmarried noblemen’s daughters.

‘You- you should have?’ Merlin asks him.

‘Yes, of course. It just, - well. It never occurred to me you might want to marry,’ Arthur tells him. ‘Which is stupid really, of course you do. I mean, well why shouldn’t you? Right? There are a lot of pretty girls and now you are a sorcerer of great standing and I should probably turn you into a noble yourself and, Merlin _why_ are you staring at me with your mouth open?’

‘Oh God,’ Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut.

‘What?’ Arthur demands, clearly irritated.

‘I’m not holding very high hopes for the future, if you are supposed to go down in history as the greatest King that has ever lived.’

‘ _Merlin_.’

‘It is a list for you Arthur, how dense can you be? Seriously!’

‘For me? Merlin, I am not remarrying.’

‘You have to.’ Merlin tells him, not quite managing to sound as steady as he would like, but not as desperate as he would fear either. ‘You know you do.’

‘No I don’t. I think this whole coming to the throne by birth business is a farce. I think the people should be allowed to choose who rules their lives.’ He glances at Merlin but can’t quite hide a smile when he sees the expression on his face. ‘Please close your mouth Merlin, it isn’t a very becoming look.’

The silence stretches between them for a long time, before Merlin turns away, pushing back his sleeves and washing his hands in the basin.

‘I should probably go clean up too,’ Arthur says to Merlin’s back, while attempting to pull the remnants of his shirt together.

‘Uh, yeah,’ Merlin tells him, glancing over his shoulder, but something makes him freeze and turn around. ‘Wait,’ he says, frowning and advancing on Arthur. ‘What is _that_?’ He points at a red line that protrudes a little from beneath the torn collar of the shirt.

‘Wha-? Oh, that is just an old scar.’

‘An old _scar_?’ Merlin’s eyes widen and he shows every sign of returning to his earlier panic so Arthur holds up his hands.

‘It’s fine really! This happened years ago, I don’t even feel it anymore.’

‘Show me,’ Merlin says a little thickly.

‘Really, I-‘

‘Show me.’

‘Fine.’ Arthur frowns and his jaw tenses while he rips the shirt open completely. It is ruined anyway. When he looks up again, Merlin is swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

’How did it happen?’ he whispers, eyes on the large, angry red line connecting Arthur’s right hipbone with his left shoulder. Arthur just shrugs.

‘Some battle, when my father was still alive.’ He doesn’t say _when you were gone_. ‘Kilgharrah’s scabbard saved me. First time I felt its power, practically threw me back so the sword just cut through skin. Still deep as you can see, but not deep enough to kill. I’ve never gone anywhere without it since, until last night.’

Merlin is worrying his bottom lip, frowning darkly. ‘You could have died.’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t.’

‘And I wouldn’t have known until _years later_.’

‘Yeah. I guess.’

Merlin steps closer and after a small glance at Arthur’s face, traces a finger over the ugly uneven scar, tissue thick in places where the blade snagged on skin. Arthur lets out a long breath, as he sees it disappear underneath Merlin’s touch, skin turning smooth again from shoulder to hip. ‘There,’ Merlin says, clearing his throat and taking a step back, his hand resting on the back of a chair, as if he isn’t quite sure his legs alone are enough to hold him up. ‘You should’ve told me about that sooner. No need to walk around with scars like that.’

‘Apparently not,’ Arthur tells him quietly. ‘I should go change.’ He walks past Merlin, stops, runs one finger over the back of Merlin’s hand, says _huh_ and smiles almost shyly before disappearing through the door.

And it is a beautiful thing when a face so familiar of years and years of looking at, can still surprise with an expression of softness and pure, pure love.

Arthur is sitting on the throne and for some reason, probably because Arthur _never_ sits on it, Merlin still thinks of it as Uther’s throne. Only Uther would probably rise from his grave to bash his son upside the head if he saw how Arthur had one leg swinging off the armrest, with the heel of his other foot caught on the edge of the seat. He is reading through a stack of papers that he keeps dropping to the floor one by one, looking utterly and completely bored, so Merlin steps out of the shadows.

‘Merlin!’ Arthur’s face lights up and he straightens, grinning widely. ‘Do you have to keep appearing out of nowhere like that? Everyone knows you have magic by now, no need to prove it.’

‘I’m only here,’ Merlin tells him, grinning in return despite himself. ‘Because you promised me dinner, remember?’

‘Oh,’ Arthur flushes a little. ‘Right. Yes, uhm. My quarters later?’

‘All right.’ Merlin’s grin widens and he is about to pull the shadows around himself again and disappear, because he knows secretly Arthur loves it. But first, he draws himself up to his full height, thinks of how the High Priestess of Avalon used to cast the shimmer of power around herself, and does the same. He knows it makes him look taller, broader, gives his eyes a blue shine that would put the ocean to shame and he tries very hard not to feel giddy at the look on Arthur’s face before he vanishes.

 

~ ~ ~

  
‘I want you,’ Arthur breathes into Merlin’s ear. ‘I want-, I want you. _So much_ Merlin. All this time, I-’ They haven't even made it past the first glass of wine and the dinner stands abandoned and cooling on Arthur’s table.

‘Yes. Arthur. Gods, _yes_.’ Merlin’s breath shudders around every word, as the whole of him can’t seem to stop shaking. Arthur strips back his robe, his shirt, unties his boots, pulling them off one by one and leads him to the bed.

Arthur savors the look of Merlin's naked body on his bed. He presses his fingers into every joint, every crook, every dip, as if he wants to make sure nothing changed, everything is still the same and Merlin is still Merlin. His mouth lingers on his neck, the crevice beneath his breastbone, the protrusion of his ribs. He slides down Merlin’s trousers and tosses them over the edge of the bed so his fingers can trace the curve of his sharp hipbones, the soft hair leading down and Merlin is hard, he is so damned hard, Arthur can’t take his eyes off him. He jolts a little when he feels something warm drip down his hand but his lips twitch when he sees it is Merlin’s golden magic, slicking his fingers.

‘Please,’ Merlin whispers as Arthur’s other hand curls around his cock and he slides inside, knowing he will never forget the sound Merlin makes as he does so. But it isn’t enough, it has been too long and it isn’t enough for either of them, so when he whispers  _Merlin_ , his voice hoarse, the warm magic immediately moves from Arthur’s fingers to his groin and he tears off his own clothes. Arthur's entire body trembles when he slides inside Merlin and he has to screw his eyes shut because it is too much, it is too much and he can’t _bear_ it. Merlin seems to feel the same, because he turns his face in an attempt to hide it in the pillows.

‘Don’t look away,’ Arthur whispers but then Merlin’s breathing turns frantic and Arthur frowns down at him. ‘Merlin, what-?’

‘I can’t,’ he gasps, struggling to suck oxygen into his contracting lungs, eyes wide and full of naked emotion. ‘I never thought-, this, we-, oh Arthur.’

‘Shh,’ Arthur whispers, stroking the hair out of Merlin’s face, lifting himself up on one elbow to take the weight off him. ‘Shh, it’s all right Merlin, I’m here, everything is all right.’ He holds very still, waiting for Merlin’s breathing to calm down, for him to stop panicking, running his fingers through his hair over and over again, murmuring soothing things, lips against his temple. When Merlin finally relaxes, his breathing calmer and more even, he goes to pull away but Merlin puts a hand on his lower back, whispering _stay_ , so he does.

Merlin’s arms wrap around Arthur's shoulders and he lowers his head into the dip of Merlin's neck where it fits so perfectly. Where it has always fitted perfectly. He fucks him gently, pressing chaste kisses to his eyelids, his cheekbones, his lips, until Merlin tightens his legs around him, pulling him close, coming apart around Arthur's name and body.

 

~ ~ ~

  
‘You know there is enough of this, of us, to last beyond our lifetime. Surely a bond this strong, forged in the depths of the world itself, will hold for centuries. It will simmer, permeate through time, so they still talk about us long after we’ve drawn our last breath. We will always burn, you and I, until time itself has gone out.’

 

~ ~ ~

  
‘It’s so cold, damn it’s so cold. I didn’t know, I never knew-‘

‘Shh it’s all right, I am here, it’s all right.’ But of course it isn’t all right and it never will be all right again because Merlin remembers this moment, from the Pool and the nightmares haunting his dreams ever since. There is no wound struck by mortal weapon. This is a wound Merlin cannot heal, not even with Mordred dead at the bottom of the hill. He gently rocks back and forth, not because he thinks it might soothe Arthur in any way, but because he can’t stop himself.

‘This is where I leave you Merlin.’

‘I know. I have always known.’ And if it is a bad thing to know the moment of your own death, it is infinitely worse to know the end of the reason for your existence.

‘I am so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Don’t be. There is no time for being sorry Arthur. There is no time. Tell me something else, something you’ve always wanted to say but never did.’

‘You might have been the worst servant Merlin, but you were the best friend. The only friend I ever needed.’

He laughs, a noise between a choke and a sob but a laugh none the less, and for the briefest moment, Arthur looks really pleased with himself, as if making Merlin laugh is all he ever wanted to do.

‘Remember eternity Arthur, how it won’t be able to keep us apart. Remember. That is where we will be, where I will find you when the time has come.’

‘You will be alone here.’

‘But you won’t be. That is all I was ever afraid of, that I would go before you and that you would be alone. And I will always think of you. Every morning before I open my eyes I will do nothing for one moment but think of you.’

Arthur’s mouth curls into that small, private smile he has kept just for Merlin all these years. He looks like he might say something else, but his breath stills on his lips and his eyes turn staring, unseeing, locked in Merlin’s.

It should be agonizing in its beauty how the sun sinks below the horizon just this moment, how it stains the sky with the same red that stains Merlin’s hands, but he doesn’t see it. Can’t see it, even though he looks at nothing else until darkness has taken all color from the world. He doubts it will ever be more than a shade of grey again.

Merlin stretches his fingers toward the ground, allows the gold to fill his eyes one last time. Slowly, the mist seeps up but he feels it is reluctant, as if it does’t really want to be here or as if it has to come from so far away, it takes a long time to make the journey. A small shadow appears, becoming more solid until it shapes into a a young woman with kind eyes, wise beyond her years. But then, this is Avalon, she could be older than Merlin.

‘Ah,’ she says, when her eyes slowly lift from Arthur’s body to Merlin’s grief twisted face. ‘It is this time already.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you are the Merlin.’

‘Just Merlin.

‘No. You are the first.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You will return many times throughout the existence of this world, together with your King, whenever you are most needed.’

He lifts his eyes to the woman now, looking at her more closely.

‘That does not seem to ease your pain,’ she says, her head titled in question.

‘I don’t want to return to this again. For what? Live a life for destiny to warp and deform? I want to return for Arthur, for a life of just the two of us, no Kingdom to save, no magic to hide, just us.’

‘Maybe that will happen too.’

‘You see it?’

‘You know there are many futures Merlin, you have seen them too.’

‘Take care of him.’

‘We will.’

He stares at Arthur’s peaceful face, long after the girl and the mist and Arthur himself have gone.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
So, Merlin thinks, many years and battles later, his bones wary and body old and worn. Things didn’t go according to plan, but then again, they never do.

So maybe they weren’t meant to fall in love, maybe the bond that drew them together was too strong for them to resist. Maybe Arthur and Guinevere were meant to have many children, with a son who would guard the peace in an Albion thriving on magic. But there is no use in dwelling on what could have been. It has never brought any change to the world, or undone decisions made.

There is a new religion passing through the lands, as it could only be expected. Things never stay the same. Merlin doesn’t care for it much, with its shrill bells and demand for worship. The men are too stoic and the women too hard. There seems to be no room for laughter or any of the other things that make an already bleak existence more bearable. The one thing he does like, is how their eerie voices fill the sky, in songs he doesn’t understand, but can feel the meaning of anyway. It is enough and he leaves the world to it. He has done his bit and this religion can take over, he doesn’t care anymore. They claim their God is the Only God, and that he is vengeful. They claim there is a place of eternal hell for sinners where this God sends wrongdoers in punishment. Merlin doesn’t believe in it. There may be a God, but surely, punishment is dealt to the living, not the dead. Death is peace, it is release, it is Arthur.

 

  


~ ~ ~

  
He calls the Mists, where Arthur had brought him a long time ago, on the back of the dragon. Merlin can see the outline of a hill through the white fog, the shimmering of a Pool as it reflects the moon and the stars. There is a man, his hair blond and his features youthful. Merlin can feel the age fall away with every step, as he stumbles through the mist and magic, before it dissolves one last time, disappearing together with the last sorcerer.

 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> [Banner by Jen from The Perv Pack Smut Shack!](http://www.pervpackssmutshack.com/)


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